GIFT  OF 
John  E.   Mee 


j 


THE    COMEDY   OF  HUMAN  LIFE 
By  H.  DE  BALZAC 


SCENES    FROM    PRIVATE    LIFE 


A  START   IN   LIFE 

VENDETTA 

STUDY  OF   A  WOMAN 

THE  MESSAGE 


BALZAC'S     NOVELS. 

Translated  by  Miss  K.  P.  Wormeley. 

Already  Published: 
PEEE     GORIOT. 
DUCHESSE     DE     LANGEAIS. 
RISE  AND  PALL  OF  CESAR  BIROTTEAU. 
EUGENIE     GRANDET. 
COUSIN     PONS. 
THE     COUNTRY     DOCTOR. 
THE     TWO     BROTHERS. 

THE  ALKAHEST  (La  Recherche  de  l'Absolu). 
MODESTE     MIGNON. 

THE   MAGIC    SKIN  (La  Peau  de  Chagrin). 
COUSIN     BETTE. 
LOUIS     LAMBERT. 
BUREAUCRACY  (Les  Employe's). 
SERAPHITA. 

SONS    OP    THE    SOIL   (Les  Paysans). 
FAME    AND    SORROW    (Chat-qui-pelote). 
THE   LILY   OF    THE   VALLEY. 
URSULA. 

AN   HISTORICAL   MYSTERY. 
ALBERT    SAVARUS. 
BALZAC  :    A   MEMOIR. 
PIERRETTE. 
THE    CHOUANS. 
LOST    ILLUSIONS. 
A  GREAT  MAN  OF   THE    PROVINCES  IN 

PARIS. 
THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF   CONSOLATION. 
THE    VILLAGE    RECTOR. 
MEMOIRS    OF    TWO     YOUNG    MARRIED 

WOMEN. 
CATHERINE    DE'    MEDICI. 
LUCIEN   DE    RUBEMPRE. 
FERRAGUS,  CHIEF  OF  THE  DEVORANTS. 
A   START   IN   LIFE. 

♦ 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC 

TKANSLATED     BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


A  START  IN  LIFE 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 


3     SOMERSET     STREET 


BOSTON 
1895 


GIFT  OF 

Copyright,  1895, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


WLtxibersitg  $)««: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


c' 


TO  LAURE. 

Let  the  brilliant  and  modest  mind  that  gave  me  the  sub- 
ject of  this  Scene  have  the  honor  of  it 

Her  brother, 

De  Balzac. 


796263 


CONTENTS. 


A  START  IN   LIFE. 

PAGE 

I.     That  which  was  Lacking  to  Pierrotin's 

Happiness 1 

II.     The  Steward  in  Danger 24 

III.  The  Travellers 43 

IV.  The    Grandson   of   the   Famous    Czerni- 

Georges 74 

V.     The  Drama  Begins 106 

VI.     The   Moreau   Interior 127 

VII.     A  Mother's  Trials 162 

VIII.     Tricks  and  Farces  of  the  Embryo  Long 

Robe 187 

IX.     La  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas  y  Cab- 

irolos 206 

X.     Another  Catastrophe 230 

XI.     Oscar's  Last  Blunder 247 

VENDETTA. 

T.     Prologue 265 

II.     The  Studio 274 


viii  Contents, 

PAGE 

III.  Labe'doyere's  Friend  ..........     300 

IV.  Love 325 

V.     Marriage 350 

VI.     Retribution 366 


STUDY    OF   A   WOMAN 383 


THE  MESSAGE 401 


A  START   IN  LIFE. 


TIIAT    WHICH    WAS    LACKING   TO    PIERROTIN'S    HAPPINESS. 

Railroads,  in  a  future  not  far  distant,  must  force 
certain  industries  to  disappear  forever,  and  modify 
several  others,  more  especially  those  relating  to  the 
different  modes  of  transportation  in  use  around  Paris. 
Therefore  the  persons  and  things  which  are  the  ele- 
ments of  this  Scene  will  soon  give  to  it  the  character 
of  an  archaeological  work.  Our  nephews  ought  to  be 
enchanted  to  learn  the  social  material  of  an  epoch 
which  they  will  call  the  "  olden  time."  The  pictu- 
resque coucous  which  stood  on  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde, encumbering  the  Cours-la-Reine,  —  coucous 
which  had  flourished  for  a  century,  and  were  still 
numerous  in  1830,  scarcely  exist  in  1842,  unless  on 
the  occasion  of  some  attractive  suburban  solemnity, 
like  that  of  the  Grandes  Eaux  of  Versailles.  In  1820, 
the  various  celebrated  places  called  the  "  Environs  of 

1 


2  A  Start  in  Life. 

Paris  "    did    not    all    possess   a  regular    stage-coach 
service. 

Nevertheless,   the   Touchards,    father  and   son,   had 
acquired  a  monopoly  of  travel  and  transportation  to 
all  the  populous   towns   within  a  radius  of  forty-five 
miles  ;    and  their  enterprise   constituted  a  fine  estab- 
ment  in  the  rue  du  Faubourg-Saint-Denis.     In  spite  of 
their  long-standing  rights,  in  spite,  too,  of  their  efforts, 
their   capital,    and   all   the  advantages  of  a  powerful 
centralization,    the    Touchard    coaches    {messageries) 
found  terrible  competitors  in  the  coucous  for  all  points 
within  a  circumference  of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles.     The 
passion  of  the  Parisian  for  the  country  is  such  that 
local  enterprise   could   successfully   compete  with  the 
Lesser    Stage    compan}r,  —  Petites    Messageries,    the 
name  given  to  the  Touchard  enterprise  to  distinguish 
it  from  that  of  the  Grandes  Messageries  of  the  rue 
Montmartre.     At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  the  Tou- 
chard success  was  stimulating  speculators.     For  ever}' 
small  locality  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris  there  sprang 
up  schemes  of  beautiful,  rapid,  and  commodious  vehi- 
cles, departing  and  arriving  in  Paris  at  fixed  hours, 
which  produced,  naturally,  a  fierce  competition.    Beaten 
on  the  long  distances  of  twelve  to  eighteen  miles,  the 
coucou  came  down  to  shorter  trips,  and  so  lived  on  for 
several  years.    At  last,  however,  it  succumbed  to  omni- 
buses, which  demonstrated  the  possibility  of  carrying 


A  Start  in  Life.  3 

eighteen  persons  in  a  vehicle  drawn  b}T  two  horses. 
To-day  the  coucou  —  if  by  chance  any  of  those  birds  of 
ponderous  flight  still  linger  in  the  second-hand  carriage- 
shops  —  might  be  made,  as  to  its  structure  and  ar- 
rangement, the  subject  of  learned  researches  comparable 
to  those  of  Cuvier  on  the  animals  discovered  in  the 
chalk-pits  of  Montmartre. 

These  petty  enterprises,  which  had  struggled  since 
1822  against  the  Touchards,  usually  found  a  strong 
foothold  in  the  good-will  and  sympathy  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  districts  which  the}r  served.  The  person 
undertaking  the  business  as  proprietor  and  conductor 
was  nearly  always  an  inn-keeper  along  the  route,  to 
whom  the  beings,  things,  and  interests  with  which  he 
had  to  do  were  all  familiar.  He  could  execute  com- 
missions intelligently ;  he  never  asked  as  much  for  his 
little  stages,  and  therefore  obtained  more  custom  than 
the  Touchard  coaches.  He  managed  to  elude  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  custom-house  permit.  If  need  were,  he  was 
willing  to  infringe  the  law  as  to  the  number  of  passen- 
gers he  might  carry.  In  short,  he  possessed  the  affec- 
tion of  the  masses  ;  and  thus  it  happened  that  whenever 
:i  rival  came  upon  the  same  route,  if  his  days  for  run- 
ning  were  not  the  same  as  those  of  the  coucou,  travel- 
lers would  put  on?  their  journey  to  make  it  with  their 
long  tried  coachman,  although  his  vehicle  and  his  horses 
might  be  in  a  far  from  reassuring  condition. 


4  A  Start  in  Life. 

One  of  the  lines  which  the  Touchards,  father  and 
son,  endeavored  to  monopolize,  and  the  one  most 
stoutly  disputed  (as  indeed  it  still  is),  is  that  of  Paris 
to  Beaumont-sur-Oise,  —  a  line  extremely  profitable, 
for  three  rival  enterprises  worked  it  in  1822.  In  vain 
the  Touchards  lowered  their  price ;  in  vain  they  con- 
structed better  coaches  and  started  oftener.  Competi- 
tion still  continued,  so  productive  is  a  line  on  which 
are  little  towns  like  Saint-Denis  and  Saint-Brice,  and 
villages  like  Pierre fitte,  Groslay,  Ecouen,  Poncelles, 
Moisselles,  Monsoult,  Maffliers,  Franconville,  Presles, 
Nointel,  Nerville,  etc.  The  Touchard  coaches  finally 
extended  their  route  to  Chambly ;  but  competition  fol- 
lowed. To-day  the  Toulouse,  a  rival  enterprise,  goes 
as  far  as  Beauvais. 

Along  this  route,  which  is  that  toward  England, 
there  lies  a  road  which  turns  off  at  a  place  well-named, 
in  view  of  its  topography,  The  Cave,  and  leads  through 
a  most  delightful  valley  in  the  basin  of  the  Oise  to  the 
little  town  of  Isle- Adam,  doubly  celebrated  as  the  cra- 
dle of  the  family,  now  extinct,  of  Isle- Adam,  and  also 
as  the  former  residence  of  the  Bourbon-Contis.  Isle- 
Adam  is  a  little  town  flanked  by  two  large  villages, 
Nogent  and  Parmain,  both  remarkable  for  splendid 
quarries,  which  have  furnished  material  for  many  of 
the  finest  buildings  in  modern  Paris  and  in  foreign 
lands,  —  for  the  base  and  capital  of  the  columns  of  the 


A  Start  in  Life.  5 

Brussels  theatre  are  of  Nogent  stone.  Though  remark- 
able for  its  beautiful  sites,  for  the  famous  chateaux 
which  princes,  monks,  and  designers  have  built,  such 
as  Cassan,  Stors,  Le  Val,  Nointel,  Persan,  etc.,  this 
region  had  escaped  competition  in  1822,  and  was 
reached  by  two  coaches  only,  working  more  or  less  in 
harmony. 

This  exception  to  the  rule  of  rivalry  was  founded  on 
reasons  that  are  eas}-  to  understand.  From  the  Cave, 
the  point  on  the  route  to  England  where  a  paved  road 
(due  to  the  luxury  of  the  Princes  of  Conti)  turned  off 
to  Isle- Adam,  the  distance  is  six  miles.  No  speculat- 
ing enterprise  would  make  such  a  detour,  for  Isle-Adam 
was  the  terminus  of  the  road,  which  did  not  go  beyond 
it.  Of  late  years,  another  road  has  been  made  between 
the  valley  of  Montmorency  and  the  valley  of  the  Oise  ; 
but  in  1822  the  only  road  which  led  to  Isle- Adam  was 
the  paved  highway  of  the  Princes  of  Conti.  Pierrotin 
and  his  colleague  reigned,  therefore,  from  Paris  to  Isle- 
Adam,  beloved  by  every  one  along  the  way.  Pierro- 
tin's  vehicle,  together  with  that  of  his  comrade,  and 
Pierrotin  himself,  were  so  well  known  that  even  the 
inhabitants  on  the  main  road  as  far  as  the  Cave  were 
in  the  habit  of  using  them  ;  for  there  was  always  bet- 
ter chance  of  a  seat  to  be  had  than  in  the  Beaumont 
coaches,  which  were  almost  always  full.  Pierrotin  and 
his  competitor  were  on  the  best  of  terms.     When  the 


6  A  Start  in  Life. 

former  started  from  Isle-Adam,  the  latter  was  returning 
from  Paris,  and  vice  versa. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  rival.  Pierrotin 
possessed  the  sympathies  of  his  region  ;  besides,  he  is 
the  only  one  of  the  two  who  appears  in  this  veracious 
narrative.  Let  it  suffice  you  to  know  that  the  two 
coach  proprietors  lived  under  a  good  understanding, 
rivalled  each  other  loyally,  and  obtained  customers  by 
honorable  proceedings.  In  Paris  they  used,  for  econ- 
omy's sake,  the  same  yard,  hotel,  and  stable,  the  same 
coach-house,  office,  and  clerk.  This  detail  is  alone  suf- 
ficient to  show  that  Pierrotin  and  his  competitor  were, 
as  the  popular  saying  is,  "  good  dough."  The  hotel  at 
which  they  put  up  in  Paris,  at  the  corner  of  the  rue 
d'Enghien,  is  still  there,  and  is  called  the  "Lion  d' Ar- 
gent." The  proprietor  of  the  establishment,  which  from 
time  immemorial  had  lodged  coachmen  and  coaches, 
drove  himself  for  the  great  company  of  Daumartin, 
which  was  so  firmly  established  that  its  neighbors,  the 
Touchards,  whose  place  of  business  was  directly  oppo- 
site, never  dreamed  of  starting  a  rival  coach  on  the 
Daumartin  line. 

Though  the  departures  for  Isle-Adam  professed  to  take 
place  at  a  fixed  hour,  Pierrotin  and  his  co-rival  practised 
an  indulgence  in  that  respect  which  won  for  them  the 
grateful  affection  of  the  country-people,  and  also  violent 
remonstrances  on  the  part  of  strangers  accustomed  to 


A  Start  in  Life.  7 

the  regularity  of  the  great  lines  of  public  conveyances. 
But  the  two  conductors  of  these  vehicles,  which  were 
half  diligence,  half  coucou,  wrere  invariably  defended  by 
their  regular  customers.  The  afternoon  departure  at 
four  o'clock  usually  lagged  on  till  half-past,  while  that 
of  the  morning,  fixed  for  eight  o'clock,  was  seldom 
known  to  take  place  before  nine.  In  this  respect, 
however,  the  s}'stem  was  elastic.  In  summer,  that 
golden  period  for  the  coaching  business,  the  rule  of 
departure,  rigorous  toward  strangers,  was  often  relaxed 
for  country  customers.  This  method  not  infrequently 
enabled  Pierrotin  to  pocket  two  fares  for  one  place,  if 
a  countryman  came  earl}'  and  wanted  a  seat  already 
booked  and  paid  for  by  some  "  bird  of  passage  "  who 
was,  unluckily  for  himself,  a  little  late.  Such  elasticity 
will  certainly  not  commend  itself  to  purists  in  moralit}' ; 
but  Pierrotin  and  his  colleague  justified  it  on  the  varied 
grounds  of  u  hard  times,"  of  their  losses  during  the 
winter  months,  of  the  necessity  of  soon  getting  better 
coaches,  and  of  the  dut}'  of  keeping  exactly  to  the 
rules  written  on  the  tariff,  copies  of  which  were,  how- 
ever, never  shown,  unless  some  chance  traveller  was 
obstinate  enough  to  demand  it. 

Pierrotin,  a  man  about  forty  years  of  age,  was  al- 
ready the  father  of  a  family.  Released  from  the  cavalry 
on  the  great  disbandment  of  1815,  the  worthy  fellow 
had   succeeded   his    father,    who    for    many  years    had 


8  A  Start  in  Life. 

driven  a  coucou  of  capricious  flight  between  Paris  and 
Isle-Adam.  Having  married  the  daughter  of  a  small 
inn-keeper,  he  enlarged  his  business,  made  it  a  regular 
service,  and  became  noted  for  his  intelligence  and  a 
certain  military  precision.  Active  and  decided  in  his 
ways,  Pierrotin  (the  name  seems  to  have  been  a  sobri- 
quet) contrived  to  give,  03-  the  vivacity  of  his  coun- 
tenance, an  expression  of  sly  shrewdness  to  his  ruddy 
and  weather-stained  visage  which  suggested  wit.  He 
was  not  without  that  facility  of  speech  which  is 
acquired  chiefly  through  "seeing  life"  and  other 
countries.  His  voice,  by  dint  of  talking  to  his  horses 
and  shouting  "  Gare  !  "  was  rough  ;  but  he  managed  to 
tone  it  down  with  the  bourgeois.  His  clothing,  like 
that  of  all  coachmen  of  the  second  class,  consisted  of 
stout  boots,  heavy  with  nails,  made  at  Isle- Adam, 
trousers  of  bottle-green  velveteen,  waistcoat  of  the 
same,  over  which  he  wore,  while  exercising  his  func- 
tions, a  blue  blouse,  ornamented  on  the  collar,  shoulder- 
straps,  and  cuffs,  with  many-colored  embroidery.  A 
cap  with  a  visor  covered  his  head.  His  military  ca- 
reer had  left  in  Pierrotin's  manners  and  customs  a 
great  respect  for  all  social  superiority,  and  a  habit  of 
obedience  to  persons  of  the  upper  classes  ;  and  though* 
he  never  willingly  mingled  with  the  lesser  bourgeoisie, 
he  always  respected  women  in  whatever  station  of  life 
they  belonged.     Nevertheless,  by  dint  of  u  trundling 


A  Start  in  Life.  9 

the  world,"  —  one  of  his  own  expressions,  —  he  had 
come  to  look  upon  those  he  conveyed  as  so  many  walk- 
ing parcels,  who  required  less  care  than  the  inanimate 
ones,  —  the  essential  object  of  a  coaching  business. 

Warned  b}'  the  general  movement  which,  since  the 
Peace,  was  revolutionizing  his  calling,  Pierrotin  would 
not  allow  himself  to  be  outdone  by  the  progress  of  new 
lights.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  summer  season  he 
had  talked  much  of  a  certain  large  coach,  ordered  from 
Parry,  Breilmann,  and  Company,  the  best  makers  of 
diligences,  —  a  purchase  necessitated  by  an  increasing 
inilux  of  travellers.  Pierrotin's  present  establishment 
consisted  of  two  vehicles.  One,  which  served  in  winter, 
and  the  only  one  he  reported  to  the  tax-gatherer,  was 
the  coucou  which  he  inherited  from  his  father.  The 
rounded  flanks  of  this  vehicle  allowed  him  to  put  six 
travellers  on  two  seats,  of  metallic  hardness  in  spite 
of  the  yellow  Utrecht  velvet  with  which  they  were 
covered.  These  seats  were  separated  by  a  wooden  bar 
inserted  in  the  sides  of  the  carriage  at  the  height  of 
the  travellers'  shoulders,  which  could  be  placed  or  re- 
moved at  will.  This  bar,  speciously  covered  with  vel- 
vet (Pierrotin  called  it  "a  back"),  was  the  despair 
of  the  passengers,  from  the  great  difficulty  the)'  found 
in  placing  and  removing  it.  If  the  "back91  w*s  diffi- 
cult and  even  painful  t<>  handle,  that  was  nothing  to 
the  suffering  caused  to  the  omoplates  when   the  bar 


10  A  Start  in  Life. 

was  in  place.  But  when  it  was  left  to  lie  loose  across 
the  coach,  it  made  both  ingress  and  egress  extremely 
perilous,  especially  to  women. 

Though  each  seat  of  this  vehicle,  with  rounded  sides 
like  those  of  a  pregnant  woman,  could  rightfully  carry 
only  three  passengers,  it  was  not  uncommon  to  see 
eight  persons  on  the  two  seats  jammed  together  like 
herrings  in  a  barrel.  Pierrotin  declared  that  the  trav- 
ellers were  far  more  comfortable  in  a  solid,  immovable 
mass ;  whereas  when  only  three  were  on  a  seat  they 
banged  each  other  perpetually,  and  ran  much  risk  of 
injuring  their  hats  against  the  roof  by  the  violent  jolt- 
ing of  the  roads.  In  front  of  the  vehicle  was  a  wooden 
bench  where  Pierrotin  sat,  on  which  three  travellers 
could  perch ;  when  there,  they  went,  as  everybody 
knows,  by  the  name  of  rabbits.  On  certain  trips 
Pierrotin  placed  four  rabbits  on  the  bench,  and  sat 
himself  at  the  side,  on  a  sort  of  box  placed  below  the 
body  of  the  coach  as  a  foot-rest  for  the  rabbits,  which 
was  always  .full  of  straw,  or  of  packages  that  feared 
no  damage.  The  body  of  this  particular  coucou  was 
painted  yellow,  embellished  along  the  top  with  a  band 
of  barber's  blue,  on  which  could  be  read,  on  the  sides, 
in  silvery  white  letters,  "  Isle- Adam,  Paris,"  and  across 
the  back,  "Line  to  Isle-Adam." 

Our  descendants  will  be  mightily  mistaken  if  they 
fancy  that  thirteen  persons  including  Pierrotin  were  all 


A  Start  in  Life.  11 

that  this  vehicle  could  carry.  On  great  occasions  it 
could  take  three  more  in  a  square  compartment  covered 
with  an  awning,  where  the  trunks,  cases,  and  packages 
were  piled ;  but  the  prudent  Pierrotin  only  allowed  his 
regular  customers  to  sit  there,  and  even  they  were  not 
allowed  to  get  in  until  at  some  distance  beyond  the  bar- 
rlere.  The  occupants  of  the  "hen-roost"  (the  name 
given  by  conductors  to  this  section  of  their  vehicles) 
were  made  to  get  down  outside  of  every  village  or  town 
where  there  was  a  post  of  gendarmerie  ;  the  overloading 
forbidden  by  law,  "  for  the  safety  of  passengers,"  being 
too  obvious  to  allow  the  gendarme  on  duty  —  always  a 
friend  to  Pierrotin  —  to  avoid  the  necessity-  of  reporting 
this  flagrant  violation  of  the  ordinances.  Thus  on  cer- 
tain Saturday  nights  and  Monday  mornings,  Pierrotin's 
coucou  "  trundled  "  fifteen  travellers  ;  but  on  such  occa- 
sions, in  order  to  drag  it  along,  he  gave  his  stout  old 
horse,  called  Rougeot,  a  mate  in  the  person  of  a  little 
beast  no  bigger  than  a  pony,  about  whose  merits  he 
had  much  to  say.  This  little  horse  was  a  mare  named 
Bichette ;  she  ate  little,  she  was  spirited,  she  was  in- 
defatigable, she  was  worth  her  weight  in  gold. 

"  My  wife  wouldn't  give  her  for  that  fat  lazybones 
of  a  Rougeot !  "  cried  Pierrotin,  when  some  traveller 
would  joke  him  about  his  epitome  of  a  horse. 

The  difference  between  this  vehicle  and  the  other 
consisted  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  the  other  was  on  four 


12  A  Start  in  Life. 

wheels.  This  coach,  of  comical  construction,  called 
the  "four-wheel-coach,"  held  seventeen  travellers, 
though  it  was  bound  not  to  carry  more  than  fourteen. 
It  rumbled  so  noisily  that  the  inhabitants  of  Isle- Adam 
frequently  said,  "  Here  comes  Pierrotin  !  "  when  he 
was  scarcely  out  of  the  forest  which  crowns  the  slope 
of  the  valley.  It  was  divided  into  two  lobes,  so  to 
speak :  one,  called  the  interior,  contained  six  passen- 
gers on  two  seats ;  the  other,  a  sort  of  cabriolet  con- 
structed in  front,  was  called  the  coupe.  This  coupe 
was  closed  in  with  very  inconvenient  and  fantastic 
glass  sashes,  a  description  of  which  would  take  too 
much  space  to  allow  of  its  being  given  here.  The  four- 
wheeled  coach  was  surmounted  hy  a  hooded  imperial, 
into  which  Pierrotin  managed  to  poke  six  passengers ; 
this  space  was  inclosed  by  leather  curtains.  Pierrotin 
himself  sat  on  an  almost  invisible  seat  perched  just 
below  the  sashes  of  the  coupe. 

The  master  of  the  establishment  paid  the  tax  which 
was  levied  upon  all  public  conveyances  on  his  coucou 
only,  which  was  rated  to  carry  six  persons ;  and  he 
took  out  a  special  permit  each  time  that  he  drove  the 
four-wheeler.  This  may  seem  extraordinary  in  these 
days,  but  when  the  tax  on  vehicles  was  first  imposed, 
it  was  clone  very  timidly,  and  such  deceptions  were 
easily  practised  by  the  coach  proprietors,  always  pleased 
to  /aire  la  queue  (cheat  of  their  dues)  the  government 


A  Start  in  Life.  13 

officials,  to  use  the  argot  of  their  vocabulary.  Grad- 
ually the  greedy  Treasury  became  severe  ;  it  forced  all 
public  conve3'ances  not  to  roll  unless  they  carried  two 
certificates,  —  one  showing  that  they  had  been  weighed, 
the  other  that  their  taxes  were  duly  paid.  All  things 
have  their  salad  days,  even  the  Treasury  ;  and  in  1822 
those  days  still  lasted.  Often  in  summer,  the  "four- 
wheel  coach,"  and  the  coucou  journeyed  together,  carry- 
ing between  them  thirty-two  passengers,  though  Pier- 
rotin  was  only  paying  a  tax  on  six.  On  these  specially 
lucky  days  the  convoy  started  from  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Denis  at  half-past  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 
arrived  gallantly  at  Isle-Adam  by  ten  at  night.  Proud 
of  this  service,  which  necessitated  the  hire  of  an  extra 
horse,  Pierrotin  was  wont  to  say :  — 

"  We  went  at  a  fine  pace  !  " 

But  in  order  to  do  the  twenty-seven  miles  in  five 
hours  with  his  caravan,  he  was  forced  to  omit  certain 
stoppages  along  the  road,  —  at  Saint-Brice,  Moisselles, 
and  La  Cave. 

The  hotel  du  Lion  d'Argent  occupies  a  piece  of  land 
which  is  verj'  deep  for  its  width.  Though  its  frontage 
has  only  three  or  four  windows  on  the  faubourg  Saint- 
Denis,  the  building  extends  back  through  a  long  court- 
yard, at  the  end  of  which  are  the  stables,  forming  a 
large  house  standing  close  against  the  division  wall  of 
the  adjoining  property.     The  entrance  is  through  a  sort 


14  A  Start  in  Life. 

of  passage-way  beneath  the  floor  of  the  second  story, 
in  which  two  or  three  coaches  had  room  to  stand.  In 
1822  the  offices  of  all  the  lines  of  coaches  which  started 
from  the  Lion  d' Argent  were  kept  by  the  wife  of  the 
inn-keeper,  who  had  as  many  books  as  there  were  lines. 
She  received  the  fares,  booked  the  passengers,  and 
stowed  awajr,  good-naturedly,  in  her  vast  kitchen  the 
various  parcels  and  packages  to  be  transported.  Trav- 
ellers were  satisfied  with  this  eas\'-going,  patriarchal 
system.  If  they  arrived  too  soon,  the}-  seated  them- 
selves beneath  the  hood  of  the  huge  kitchen  chimnej*, 
or  stood  within  the  passage-wa}T,  or  crossed  to  the  Oafe 
de  l'Echiquier,  which  forms  the  corner  of  the  street  so 
named. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  autumn  of  1822,  on  a  Satur- 
day morning,  Pierrotin  was  standing,  with  his  hands 
thrust  into  his  pockets  through  the  apertures  of  his 
blouse,  beneath  the  porte-cochere  of  the  Lion  d'Argent, 
whence  he  could  see,  diagonally,  the  kitchen  of  the  inn, 
and  through  the  long  court-}' ard  to  the  stables,  which 
were  defined  in  black  at  the  end  of  it.  Daumartin's 
diligence  had  just  started,  plunging  heavily  after  those 
of  the  Touchards.  It  was  past  eight  o'clock.  Under 
the  enormous  porch  or  passage,  above  which  could  be 
read  on  a  long  sign,  "Hotel  du  Lion  d'Argent,"  stood 
the  stablemen  and  porters  of  the  coaching-lines  watch- 
ing the  lively  start  of  the  vehicles  which  deceives  so 


A  Start  in  Life.  15 

inany  travellers,  making  them  believe  that  the  horses 
will  be  kept  to  that  vigorous  gait. 

44  Shall  I  harness  up,  master?"  asked  Pierrotin's 
hostler,  when  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  seen  along 
the  road. 

41  It  is  a  quarter-past  eight,  and  I  don't  see  an}r 
travellers,"  replied  Pierrotin.  "  Where  have  they  poked 
themselves?  Yes,  harness  up  all  the  same.  And  there 
are  no  parcels  either  !  Twenty  good  Gods  !  a  fine  day 
like  this,  and  I  've.only  four  booked!  A  prett}- state 
of  things  for  a  Saturday !  It  is  alwa3's  the  way 
when  3'ou  want  money !  A  dog's  life,  and  a  dog's 
business !  " 

"If  you  had  more,  where  would  you  put  them? 
There  's  nothing  left  but  the  cabriolet,"  said  the  hos- 
tler, intending  to  soothe  Pierrotin. 

44  You  forget  the  new  coach  !  "  cried  Pierrotin. 

44  Have  you  really  got  it?"  asked  the  man,  laugh- 
ing, and  showing  a  set  of  teeth  as  white  and  broad  as 
almonds. 

44  You  old  good-for-nothing!  It  starts  to-morrow,  I 
tell  you ;  and  I  want  at  least  eighteen  passengers  for 
it." 

44  Ha,  ha!  a  fine  affair;  it'll  warm  up  the  road," 
said  the  hostler. 

44  A  coach  like  that  which  runs  to  Beaumont,  hey? 
Flaming !    painted   red   and  gold   to   make   Touchard 


16  A  Start  in  Life. 

burst  with  envy !  It  takes  three  horses !  I  have 
bought  a  mate  for  Rougeot,  and  Bichette  will  go  finely 
in  unicorn.  Come,  harness  up ! "  added  Pierrotin, 
glancing  out  toward  the  street,  and  stuffing  the  tobacco 
into  his  clay  pipe.  "  I  see  a  lady  and  lad  over  there 
with  packages  under  their  arms ;  they  are  coming  to 
the  Lion  d' Argent,  for  they  've  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
coucous.  Tiens,  tiens  !  seems  to  me  I  know  that  lady 
for  an  old  customer." 

"  You  've  often  .started  empty,  and  arrived  full,"  said 
his  porter,  still  by  way  of  consolation. 

"But  no  parcels!  Twenty  good  Gods!  What  a 
fate !  " 

And  Pierrotin  sat  down  on  one  of  the  huge  stone 
posts  which  protected  the  walls  of  the  building  from 
the  wheels  of  the  coaches ;  but  he  did  so  with  an  anx- 
ious, reflective  air  that  was  not  habitual  with  him. 

This  conversation,  apparently  insignificant,  had 
stirred  up  cruel  anxieties  which  were  slumbering  in 
his  breast.  What  could  there  be  to  trouble  the  heart 
of  Pierrotin  in  a  fine  new  coach?  To  shine  upon  "  the 
road,"  to  rival  the  Touchards,  to  magnify  his  own  line, 
to  carry  passengers  who  would  compliment  him  on  the 
conveniences  due  to  the  progress  of  coach-building, 
instead  of  having  to  listen  to  perpetual  complaints  of 
his  sabots  (tires  of  enormous  width),  —  such  was  Pier- 
rotin's  laudable  ambition ;  but,  carried  away  with  the 


A  Start  in  Li/e.^  17 

desire  to  outstrip  his  comrade  on  the  line,  hoping  that 
the  latter  might  some  day  retire  and  leave  to  him  alone 
the  transportation  to  Isle-Adam,  he  had  gone  too  far. 
The  coach  was  indeed  ordered  from  Barry,  Breilmann, 
and  Company,  coach-builders,  who  had  just  substituted 
square  English  springs  for  those  called  "  swan-necks," 
and  other  old-fashioned  French  contrivances.  But  these 
hard  and  distrustful  manufacturers  would  only  deliver 
over  the  diligence  in  return  for  coin.  Not  particularly 
pleased  to  build  a  vehicle  which  would  be  difficult  to 
sell  if  it  remained  upon  their  hands,  these  long-headed 
dealers  declined  to  undertake  it  at  all  until  Pierrotin 
had  made  a  preliminary  payment  of  two  thousand 
francs.  To  satisfy  this  precautionary  demand,  Pierro- 
tin had  exhausted  all  his  resources  and  all  his  credit. 
His  wife,  his  father-in-law,  and  his  friends  had  bled. 
This  superb  diligence  he  had  been  to  see  the  evening 
before  at  the  painter's ;  all  it  needed  now  was  to  be 
set  a-rolling,  but  to  make  it  roll,  payment  in  full  must, 
alas !  be  made. 

Now,  a  thousand  francs  were  lacking  to  Pierrotin, 
and  where  to  get  them  he  did  not  know.  He  was  in 
debt  to  the  master  of  the  Lion  d'Argent ;  he  was  in 
danger  of  losing  his  two  thousand  francs  already  paid 
to  the  coach-builder,  not  counting  five  hundred  for  the 
mate  to  Rougeot,  and  three  hundred  for  new  harnesses, 
on  which  he  had  a  three-months'  credit.     Driven  by  the 


18  A  Start  in  Life. 

fuiy  of  despair  and  the  madness  of  vanit}',  he  had  just 
openly  declared  that  the  new  coach  was  to  start  on  the 
morrow.  By  offering  fifteen  hundred  francs,  instead 
of  the  two  thousand  five  hundred  still  due,  he  was  in 
hopes  that  the  softened  carriage-builders  would  give 
him  his  coach.  But  after  a  few  moments' meditation, 
his  feelings  led  him  to  cry  out  aloud  :  — 

"No!  they're  dogs!  harpies!  Suppose  I  appeal 
to  Monsieur  Moreau,  the  steward  at  Presles?  he  is  such 
a  kind  man,"  thought  Pierrotin,  struck  with  a  new  idea. 
' '  Perhaps  he  would  take  my  note  for  six  months." 

At  this  moment  a  footman  in  livery,  carrying  a 
leather  portmanteau  and  coming  from  the  Touchard 
establishment,  where  he  had  gone  too  late  to  secure 
places  as  far  as  Chambly,  came  up  and  said :  — 

"Are  you  Pierrotin?" 

"  Say  on,"  replied  Pierrotin. 

"  If  you  would  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  you  could 
take  my  master.  If  not,  1 11  cany  back  the  portman- 
teau and  try  to  find  some  other  conveyance." 

"I'll  wait  two,  three  quarters,  and  throw  a  little 
in  besides,  my  lad,"  said  Pierrotin,  eying  the  pretty 
leather  trunk,  well  buckled,  and  bearing  a  brass  plate 
with  a  coat  of  arms. 

"Very  good;  then  take  this,"  said  the  valet,  rid- 
ding his  shoulder  of  the  trunk,  which  Pierrotin  lifted, 
weighed,  and  examined. 


A  Start  in  Life.  19 

44  Here,"  lie  said  to  his  porter,  "  wrap  it  up  carefully 
in  soft  bay  and  put  it  in  the  boot.  There  's  no  name 
upon  it,"  lie  added. 

14  Monseigneur's  arms  are  there,"  replied  the  valet. 

1,4  Monseigneur!  Come  and  take  a  glass,"  said  Pier- 
rotin,  nodding  toward  the  Cafe  de  l'fichiquier,  whither 
he  conducted  the  valet.  44  Waiter,  two  absinthes!" 
he  said,  as  he  entered.  "Who  is  your  master?  and 
where  is  he  going?  I  have  never  seen  }*ou  before," 
said  Pierrotin  to  the  valet  as  they  touched  glasses. 

44  There  's  a  good  reason  for  that,"  said  the  footman. 
44  My  master  only  goes  into  your  parts  about  once  a 
year,  and  then  in  his  own  carriage.  He  prefers  the 
valley  d'Orge,  where  he  has  the  most  beautiful  park 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  a  perfect  Versailles,  a 
family  estate  of  which  he  bears  the  name.  Don't  you 
know  Monsieur  Moreau?" 

44  The  steward  of  Presles?" 

44  Yes.  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  going  down  to  spend 
a  couple  of  days  with  him." 

44  Ha!  then  I'm  tx>  carry  Monsieur  le  Comte  de 
Serizy  !  "  cried  the  coach-proprietor. 

"  Yes,  my  lad,  neither  more  nor  less.  But  listen  ! 
here  's  a  special  order.  If  you  have  any  of  the  coun- 
try neighbors  in  your  coach  you  are  not  to  call  him 
Monsieur  le  comte  ;  he  wants  to  travel  en  cognito,  and 
told  me  to  be  sure  to  say  he  would  pay  a  handsome 
pourboire  if  he  was  not  recognized." 


20  A  Start  in  Life. 

"  So!  Has  this  secret  journey  anything  to  do  with 
the  affair  which  Pere  Leger,  the  farmer  at  the  Mouli- 
neaux,  came  to  Paris  the  other  day  to  settle  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  valet,  "  but  the  fat's  in 
the  fire.  Last  night  I  was  sent  to  the  stable  to  order 
the  Daumont  carriage  to  be  ready  to  go  to  Presles  at 
seven  this  morning.  But  when  seven  o'clock  came, 
Monsieur  le  comte  countermanded  it.  Augustin,  his 
valet  de  chambre,  attributes  the  change  to  the  visit  of 
a  lady  who  called  last  night,  and  again  this  morning,  — 
he  thought  she  came  from  the  country." 

"  Could  she  have  told  him  anything  against  Mon- 
sieur Moreau?  —  the  best  of  men,  the  most  honest  of 
men,  a  king  of  men,  he}T !  He  might  have  made  a 
deal  more  than  he  has  out  of  his  position,  if  he'd 
chosen ;    I  can  tell  you  that." 

u  Then  he  was  foolish,"  answered  the  valet,  sen- 
tentiously. 

4 'Is  Monsieur  de  Serizy  going  to  live  at  Presles  at 
last?  "  asked  Pierrotin  ;  "  for  you  know  they  have  just 
repaired  and  refurnished  the  chateau.  Do  }'ou  think 
it  is  true  he  has  already  spent  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  upon  it?" 

"  If  you  or  I  had  half  what  he  has  spent  upon  it,  you 
and  I  would  be  rich  bourgeois.  If  Madame  la  comtesse 
goes  there  —  ha  !  I  tell  you  what !  no  more  ease  and 
comfort  for  the  Moreaus,"  said  the  valet,  with  an  air 
of  mystery. 


A  Start  in  Life.  21 

"He's  a  worth}'  man,  Monsieur  Moreau,"  remarked 
Pierrotin,  thinking  of  the  thousand  franes  he  wanted  to 
get  from  the  steward.  44  He  is  a  man  who  makes  others 
work,  but  he  does  n't  cheapen  what  they  do ;  and  he 
gets  all  he  can  out  of  the  land  —  for  his  master.  Hon- 
est man !  He  often  comes  to  Paris  and  gives  me  a 
good  fee  :  he  has  lots  of  errands  for  me  to  do  in  Paris  ; 
sometimes  three  or  four  packages  a  day,  —  either  from 
monsieur  or  from  madame.  My  bill  for  cartage  alone 
comes  to  fifty  francs  a  month,  more  or  less.  If  madame 
does  set  up  to  be  somebody,  she's  fond  of  her  children  ; 
and  it  is  I  who  fetch  them  from  school  and  take  them 
back  ;  and  each  time  she  gives  me  five  francs,  —  a  real 
great  lady  couldn't  do  better  than  that.  And  every 
time  I  have  an}'  one  in  the  coach  belonging  to  them 
or  going  to  see  them.  I  'm  allowed  to  drive  up  to  the 
chateau,  —  that's  all  right,  isn't  it?" 

44  They  say  Monsieur  Moreau  was  n't  worth  three 
thousand  francs  when  Monsieur  le  comte  made  him 
steward  of  Presles,"  said  the  valet. 

44  Well,  since  1806,  there's  seventeen  }'ears,  and  the 
man  ought  to  have  made  something  at  any  rate." 

41  True,"  said  the  valet,  nodding.  44  Anyway,  mas- 
ters are  very  annoying ;  and  I  hope,  for  Moreau's  sake, 
that  he  has  made  butter  for  his  bread." 

44  I  have  often  been  to  your  house  in  the  rue  de  la 
Chaussee  d'Antin  to  carry  baskets  of  game,"  said  Pier- 


22  A  Start  in  Life. 

rotin,  "but  I've  never  had  the  advantage,  so  far  of 
seeing  either  monsieur  or  madame." 

M  Monsieur  le  comte  is  a  good  man,"  said  the  foot- 
man, confidentially.  "  But  if  he  insists  on  your  helping 
to  keep  up  his  cognito  there  's  something  in  the  wind. 
At  any  rate,  so  we  think  at  the  house  ;  or  else,  why 
should  he  countermand  the  Daumont,  —  why  travel  in 
a  coucou  f  A  peer  of  France  might  afford  to  hire  a 
cabriolet  to  himself,  one  would  think." 

"  A  cabriolet  would  cost  him  fort}'  francs  to  go  there 
and  back ;  for  let  me  tell  you,  if  you  don't  know  it, 
that  road  was  only  made  for  squirrels,  —  up-hill  and 
down,  down-hill  and  up!"  said  Pierrotin.  "Peer  of 
France  or  bourgeois,  they  are  all  looking  after  the 
main  chance,  and  saving  their  money.  If  this  journey 
concerns  Monsieur  Moreau,  faith,  I  'd  be  sorry  any 
harm  should  come  to  him !  Twenty  good  Gods ! 
had  n't  I  better  find  some  way  of  warning  him  ?  —  for 
he'  s  a  tfuly  good  man,  a  kind  man,  a  king  of  men, 
hey!" 

"Pooh!  Monsieur  le  comte  thinks  everything  of 
Monsieur  Moreau,"  replied  the  valet.  "  But  let  me 
give  you  a  bit  of  good  advice.  Even'  man  for  himself 
in  this  world.  We  have  enough  to  do  to  take  care  of 
ourselves.  Do  what  Monsieur  le  comte  asks  you  to  do, 
and  all  the  more  because  there's  no  trifling  with  him. 
Besides,   to  tell  the  truth,  the  count  is  generous.     If 


A  Start  in  Life.  23 

3'ou  oblige  him  so  far,"  said  the  valet,  pointing  half- 
way down  his  little  finger,  "  he'll  send  3'on  on  as  far  as 
that,"  stretching  out  his  arm  to  its  full  length. 

This  wise  reflection,  and  the  action  that  enforced  it, 
had  the  effect,  coming  from  a  man  who  stood  as  high 
as  second  valet  to  the  Comte  de  Serizj*,  of  cooling  the 
ardor  of  Pierrotin  for  the  steward  of  Presles. 

14  Well,  adieu,  Monsieur  Pierrotin,"  said  the  valet. 

A  glance  rapidly  cast  on  the  life  of  the  Comte  de 
S£rizy,  and  on  that  of  his  steward,  is  here  necessary  in 
order  to  fully  understand  the  little  drama  now  about  to 
take  place  in  Pierrotin's  vehicle. 


24  A  Start  in  Life. 


II. 


THE    STEWARD    IN   DANGER. 

Monsieur  Huguet  de  Serisy  descends  in  a  direct 
line  from  the  famous  president  Huguet,  ennobled  under 
Francois  I. 

This  family  bears :  part}'  per  pale  or  and  sable,  an 
orle  counterchanged  and  two  lozenges  counterchanged, 
with:  *,  semper  melius  eris, —  a  motto  which,  together 
with  the  two  distaffs  taken  as  supporters,  proves  the 
modesty  of  the  burgher  families  in  the  days  when  the 
Orders  held  their  allotted  places  in  the  State ;  and 
the  naivete  of  our  ancient  customs  by  the  pun  on  eris, 
which  word,  combined  with  the  i  at  the  beginning  and 
the  final  s  in  melius,  forms  the  name  (Serisy)  of  the 
estate  from  which  the  family  take  their  title. 

The  father  of  the  present  count  was  president  of  a 
parliament  before  the  Revolution.  He  himself  a  coun- 
cillor of  State  at  the  Grand  Council  of  1787,  when  he 
was  only  twenty-two  years  of  age,  was  even  then  dis- 
tinguished for  his  admirable  memoranda  on  delicate 
diplomatic  matters.  He  did  not  emigrate  during  the 
Revolution,  and  spent  that  period  on  his  estate  of 
Serizy  near  Arpajon,   where  the  respect  in  which  his 


A  Start  in  Life.  25 

father  was  held  protected  him  from  all  danger.  After 
spending  several  years  in  taking  care  of  the  old  presi- 
dent, who  died  in  1794,  he  was  elected  about  that  time 
to  the  Council  of  the  Five  Hundred,  and  accepted  those 
legislative  functions  to  divert  his  mind  from  his  grief. 
After  the  18th  Brumaire,  Monsieur  de  Serizy  became, 
like  so  main'  other  of  the  old  parliamentary  families, 
an  object  of  the  First  Consul's  blandishment.  He  was 
appointed  to  the  Council  of  State,  and  received  one  of 
the  most  disorganized  departments  of  the  government 
to  reconstruct.  This  scion  of  an  old  historical  family 
proved  to  be  a  very  active  wheel  in  the  grand  and  mag- 
nificent organization  which  we  owe  to  Napoleon. 

The  councillor  of  State  was  soon  called  from  his  par- 
ticular administration  to  a  ministry.  Created  count  and 
senator  by  the  Emperor,  he  was  made  proconsul  to  two 
kingdoms  in  succession.  In  1806,  when  forty  years  of 
age,  he  married  the  sister  of  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de 
Ronquerolles,  the  widow  at  twenty  of  Gaubert,  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  of  the  Republican  generals,  who  left 
her  his  whole  propert}*.  This  marriage,  a  suitable  one  in 
point  of  rank,  doubled  the  alread}*  considerable  fortune 
of  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  who  became  through  his  wife 
the  brother-in-law  of  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Rouvre, 
made  count  and  chamberlain  by  the  Emperor* 

In  1814,  weary  with  constant  toil,  the  Comte  do 
Serizy,  whose  shattered  health  required  rest,  resigned 


26  A  Start  in  Life. 

all  his  posts,  left  the  department  at  the  head  of  which 
the  Emperor  had  placed  him,  and  came  to  Paris,  where 
Napoleon  was  compelled  by  the  evidence  of  his  e}'es 
to  admit  that  the  count's  illness  was  a  valid  excuse, 
though  at  first  that  unfatigudble  master,  who  gave  no 
heed  to  the  fatigue  of  others,  was  disposed  to  consider 
Monsieur  de  Serizy's  action  as  a  defection.  Though 
the  senator  was  never  in  disgrace,  he  was  supposed 
to  have  reason  to  complain  of  Napoleon.  Conse- 
quently, when  the  Bourbons  returned,  Louis  XVIII., 
whom  Monsieur  de  Serizy  held  to  be  his  legitimate 
sovereign,  treated  the  senator,  now  a  peer  of  France, 
with  the  utmost  confidence,  placed  him  in  charge  of  his 
private  affairs,  and  appointed  him  one  of  his  cabinet 
ministers.  On  the  20th  of  March,  Monsieur  de  Serizy 
did  not  go  to  Ghent.  He  informed  Napoleon  that  he 
remained  faithful  to  the  house  of  Bourbon ;  would  not 
accept  his  peerage  during  the  Hundred  Days,  and 
passed  that  period  on  his  estate  at  Serizj'. 

After  the  second  fall  of  the  Emperor,  he  became 
once  more  a  privy-councillor,  was  appointed  vice- 
president  of  the  Council  of  State,  and  liquidator,  on 
behalf  of  France,  of  claims  and  indemnities  demanded 
by  foreign  powers.  Without  personal  assumption, 
without  ambition  even,  he  possessed  great  influence  in 
public  affairs.  Nothing  of  importance  was  done  with- 
out consulting  him ;  but  he  never  went  to  court,  and 


A  Start  in  Life.  27 

was  seldom  seen  in  his  own  salons.  This  noble  life, 
devoting  itself  from  its  very  beginning  to  work,  had 
ended  by  becoming  a  life  of  incessant  toil.  The  count 
rose  at  all  seasons  by  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
worked  till  mid-day,  attended  to  his  functions  as  peer 
of  France  and  vice-president  of  the  Council  of  State  in 
the  afternoons,  and  went  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock.  In 
recognition  of  such  labor,  the  King  had  made  him  a 
knight  of  his  various  Orders.  Monsieur  de  Serizy  had 
long  worn  the  grand  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor ;  he 
also  had  the  orders  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  of  Saint- 
Andrew  of  Russia,  that  of  the  Prussian  Eagle,  and 
nearl}'  all  the  lesser  Orders  of  the  courts  of  Europe.  No 
man  was  less  obvious,  or  more  useful  in  the  political 
world  than  he.  It  is  eas3T  to  understand  that  the  world's 
honor,  the  fuss  and  feathers  of  public  favor,  the  glories 
of  success  were  indifferent  to  a  man  of  this  stamp  ;  but 
no  one,  unless  a  priest,  ever  comes  to  a  life  of  this  kind 
without  some  serious  underlying  reason.  His  conduct 
had  its  cause,  and  a  cruel  one. 

In  love  with  his  wife  before  he  married  her,  this  pas- 
sion had  lasted  through  all  the  secret  unhappiness  of 
his  marriage  with  a  widow,  —  a  woman  mistress  of  her- 
self before  as  well  as  after  her  second  marriage,  and 
who  used  her  liberty  all  the  more  freely  because  her 
husband  treated  her  with  the  indulgence  of  a  mother 
for  a  spoilt  child.      His  constant  toil   served   him   as 


28  A  Start  in  Life. 

shield  and  buckler  against  pangs  of  heart  which  he 
silenced  with  the  care  that  diplomatists  give  to  the 
keeping  of  secrets.  He  knew,  moreover,  how  ridicu- 
lous was  jealousy  in  the  eyes  of  a  society  that  would 
never  have  believed  in  the  conjugal  passion  of  an  old 
statesman.  How  happened  it  that  from  the  earliest 
days  of  his  marriage  his  wife  so  fascinated  him  ?  Why 
did  he  suffer  without  resistance?  How  was  it  that  he 
dared  not  resist?  Why  did  he  let  the  \Tears  go  b}<  and 
still  hope  on  ?  By  what  means  did  this  young  and  pretty 
and  clever  woman  hold  him  in  bondage? 

The  answer  to  all  these  questions  would  require  a 
long  history,  which  would  injure  our  present  tale.  Let 
us  onljT  remark  here  that  the  constant  toil  and  grief  of 
the  count  had  unfortunately  contributed  not  a  little  to 
deprive  him  of  personal  advantages  very  necessary  to  a 
man  who  attempts  to  struggle  against  dangerous  com- 
parisons. In  fact,  the  most  cruel  of  the  count's  secret 
sorrows  was  that  of  causing  repugnance  to  his  wife  Iry  a 
malady  of  the  skin  resulting  solely  from  excessive  labor. 
Kind,  and  alwa}'s  considerate  of  the  countess,  he  allowed 
her  to  be  mistress  of  herself  and  her  home.  She  received 
all  Paris  ;  she  went  into  the  country  ;  she  returned  from 
it  precisely  as  though  she  were  still  a  widow.  He  took 
care  of  her  fortune  and  supplied  her  Iuxuit  as  a  stew- 
ard might  have  done.  The  countess  had  the  utmost 
respect  for  her  husband.     She  even  admired  his  turn  of 


A  Start  in  Life.  29 

mind  ;  she  knew  how  to  make  him  happy  by  approba- 
tion ;  she  could  do  what  she  pleased  with  him  by  simply 
going  to  his  study  and  talking  for  an  hour  with  him. 
Like  the  great  seigneurs  of  the  olden  time,  the  count 
protected  his  wife  so  loyally  that  a  single  word  of  dis- 
respect  said  of  her  would  have  been  to  him  an  un- 
pardonable injury.  The  world  admired  him  for  this ; 
and  Madame  de  Serizy  owed  much  to  it.  Any  other 
woman,  even  though  she  came  of  a  family  as  distin- 
guished as  the  Ronquerolles,  might  have  found  herself 
degraded  in  public  opinion.  The  countess  was  ungrate- 
ful, but  she  mingled  a  charm  with  her  ingratitude. 
From  time  to  time  she  shed  a  balm  upon  the  wounds 
of  her  husband's  heart. 

Let  us  now  explain  the  moaning  of  this  sudden  jour- 
ne}',  and  the  incognito  maintained  by  a  minister  of 
State. 

A  rich  farmer  of  Beaumont-sur-Oise,  named  Leger, 
leased  and  cultivated  a  farm,  the  fields  of  which  pro- 
jected into  and  greatl}'  injured  the  magnificent  estate 
of  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  called  Presles.  This  farm 
belonged  to  a  burgher  of  Beaumont-sur  Oise,  named 
Margueron.  The  lease  made  to  Leger  in  1799,  at  a 
time  when  the  great  advance  6f  agriculture  was  not 
foreseen,  was  about  to  expire,  and  the  owner  of  the 
farm  refused  all  offers  from  Luger  to  renew  the  lease. 
For  some  time  past,  Monsieur  de  Sdrizy,  wishing  to 


30  A  Start  in  Life, 

rid  himself  of  the  annoyances  and  petty  disputes  caused 
by  the  inclosure  of  these  fields  within  his  land,  had  de- 
sired to  buy  the  farm,  having  heard  that  Monsieur 
Margueron's  chief  ambition  was  to  have  his  only  son, 
then  a  mere  tax-gatherer,  made  special  collector  of 
finances  at  Beaumont.  The  farmer,  who  knew  he  could 
sell  the  fields  piecemeal  to  the  count  at  a  high  price, 
was  read3T  to  pay  Margueron  even  more  than  he  ex- 
pected from  the  count. 

Thus  matters  stood  when,  two  days  earlier  than  that 
of  which  we  write,  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  anxious  to  end 
the  matter,  sent  for  his  notaiy,  Alexandre  Crottat,  and 
his  lawyer,  Derville,  to  examine  into  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  affair.  Though  Derville  and  Crottat 
threw  some  doubt  on  the  zeal  of  the  count's  steward 
(a  disturbing  letter  from  whom  had  led  to  the  consul- 
tation), Monsieur  de  Serizy  defended  Moreau,  who,  he 
said,  had  served  him  faithfully  for  seventeen  3'ears. 

44  Very  well!"  said  Derville,  "then  I  advise  your 
Excellency  to  go  to  Presles  yourself,  and  invite  this 
Margueron  to  dinner.  Crottat  will  send  his  head-clerk 
with  a  deed  of  sale  drawn  up,  leaving  only  the  neces- 
sary lines  for  description  of  propert}'  and  titles  in 
blank.  Your  Excellenc}'  should  take  with  you  part  of 
the  purchase  money  in  a  check  on  the  Bank  of  France, 
not  forgetting  the  appointment  of  the  son  to  the  col- 
lectorship.     If  you  don't  settle  the  thing  at  once  that 


A  Start  in  Life.  31 

farm  will  slip  through  your  fingers.  You  don't  know, 
Monsieur  le  comte,  the  trickery  of  those  peasants. 
Peasants  against  diplomat,  and  the  diplomat  succumbs. 

Crottat  agreed  in  this  advice,  which  the  count,  if  we 
may  judge  by  the  valet's  statements  to  Pierrotin,  had 
adopted.  The  preceding  evening  he  had  sent  Moreau 
a  line  by  the  diligence  to  Beaumont,  telling  him  to  invite 
Margueron  to  dinner  in  order  that  the}'  might  then  and 
there  close  the  purchase  of  the  farm  of  Moulineaux. 

Before  this  matter  came  up,  the  count  had  already 
ordered  the  chateau  of  Presles  to  be  restored  and  re- 
furnished, and  for  the  last  year,  Grindot,  an  architect 
then  in  fashion,  was  in  the  habit  of  making  it  a  weekly 
visit.  So,  while  concluding  his  purchase  of  the  farm, 
Monsieur  de  Serizy  also  intended  to  examine  the  work 
of  restoration  and  the  effect  of  the  new  furniture.  He 
intended  all  this  to  be  a  surprise  to  his  wife  when  he 
brought  her  to  Presles,  and  with  this  idea  in  his  mind, 
he  had  put  some  personal  pride  and  self-love  into  the 
work.  How  came  it  therefore  that  the  count,  who  in- 
tended in  the  evening  to  drive  to  Presles  openly  in 
his  own  carriage,  should  be  starting  early  the  next 
morning  incognito  in  Pierrotin's  coucouf 

Here  a  few  words  on  the  life  of  the  steward  Moreau 
become  indispensable. 

Moreau,  steward  of  the  estate  of  Presles,  was  the 
son  of  a  provincial  attorney  who  became  during  the 


32  A  Start  in  Life. 

Revolution  sj'ndic-attorney  at  Versailles.  In  that  posi- 
tion, Moreau  the  father  had  been  the  means  of  almost 
saving  both  the  lives  and  property  of  the  Serizy  s, 
father  and  son.  Citizen  Moreau  belonged  to  the  Dan- 
ton  party ;  Robespierre,  implacable  in  his  hatreds,  pur- 
sued him,  discovered  him,  and  finally  had  him  executed 
at  Versailles.  Moreau  the  son,  heir  to  the  doctrines 
and  friendships  of  his  father,  was  concerned  in  one  of 
the  conspiracies  which  assailed  the  First  Consul  on 
his  accession  to  power.  At  this  crisis,  Monsieur  de 
Serizy,  anxious  to  pay  his  debt  of  gratitude,  enabled 
Moreau,  lying  under  sentence  of  death,  to  make  his 
escape ;  in  1804  he  asked  for  his  pardon,  obtained  it, 
offered  him  first  a  place  in  his  government  office,  and 
finally  took  him  as  private  secretary  for  his  own  affairs. 
Some  time  after  the  marriage  of  his  patron  Moreau 
fell  in  love  with  the  countess's  waiting-woman  and  mar- 
ried her.  ,  To  avoid  the  annoyances  of  the  false  posi- 
tion in  which  this  marriage  placed  him  (more  than  one 
example  of  which  could  be  seen  at  the  imperial  court), 
Moreau  asked  the  count  to  give  him  the  management 
of  the  Presles  estate,  where  his  wife  could  play  the  lad}' 
in  a  country  region,  and  neither  of  them  would  be 
made  to  suffer  from  wounded  self-love.  The  count 
wanted  a  trustworthy  man  at  Presles,  for  his  wife  pre- 
ferred Serizy,  an  estate  only  fifteen  miles  from  Paris. 
For  three  or  four  years  Moreau  had  held  the  key  of 


A  Start  in  Life.  33 

the  count's  affairs ;  he  was  intelligent,  and  before  the 
Revolution  he  had  studied  law  in  his  father's  office  ;  so 
Monsieur  de  Se'rizy  granted  his  request. 

14  You  can  never  advance  in  life,"  he  said  to  Moreau, 
"  for  you  have  broken  your  neck ;  but  you  can  be 
happy,  and  I  will  take  care  that  you  are  so." 

He  gave  Moreau  a  salary  of  three  thousand  francs 
and  his  residence  in  a  charming  lodge  near  the  chateau, 
all  the  wood  he  needed  from  the  timber  that  was  cut 
on  the  estate,  oats,  hay,  and  straw  for  two  horses,  and 
a  right  to  whatever  he  wanted  of  the  produce  of  the 
gardens.     A  sub-prefect  is  not  as  well  provided  for. 

During  the  first  eight  years  of  his  stewardship, 
Moreau  managed  the  estate  conscientiously ;  he  took 
an  interest  in  it.  The  count,  coming  down  now  and 
then  to  examine  the  property,  pass  judgment  on  what 
had  been  done,  and  decide  on  new  purchases,  was 
struck  with  Moreau's  evident  loyalty,  and  showed  his 
satisfaction  by  liberal  gifts. 

But  after  the  birth  of  Moreau's  third  child,  a  daugh- 
ter, he  felt  himself  so  securely  settled  in  all  his  com- 
forts at  Presles  that  he  ceased  to  attribute  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Serizy  those  enormous  advantages.  About 
the  year  1816,  the  steward,  who  until  then  had  onty 
taken  what  he  needed  for  his  own  use  from  the  estate, 
accepted  a  sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  francs  from  a 
wood-merchant  as  an  inducement  to  lease  to  the  latter, 

3 


34  A  Start  in  Life. 

for  twelve  years,  the  cutting  of  all  the  timber.  Moreau 
argued  thus :  he  could  have  no  pension  ;  he  was  the 
father  of  a  family  ;  the  count  really  owed  him  that  sum 
as  a  gift  after  ten  years'  management ;  already  the 
legitimate  possessor  of  sixty  thousand  francs  in  sav- 
ings, if  he  added  this  sum  to  that,  he  could  buy  a 
farm  worth  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  francs 
in  Champagne,  a  township  just  above  Isle-Adam,  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  Oise.  Political  events  prevented 
both  the  count  and  the  neighboring  country-people  from 
becoming  aware  of  this  investment,  which  was  made 
in  the  name  of  Madame  Moreau,  who  was  understood 
to  have  inherited  property  from  an  aunt  of  her  father. 

As  soon  as  the  steward  had  tasted  the  delightful 
fruit  of  the  possession  of  property,  he  began,  all  the 
while  maintaining  toward  the  world  an  appearance  of 
the  utmost  integrhVv,  to  lose  no  occasion  of  increasing 
his  fortune  clandestinely;  the  interests  of  his  three 
children  served  as  a  poultice  to  the  wounds  of  his 
honor.  Nevertheless,  we  ought  in  justice  to  say  that 
while  he  accepted  casks  of  wine,  and  took  care  of  him- 
self in  all  the  purchases  that  he  made  for  the  count, 
yet  according  to  the  terms  of  the  Code  he  remained  an 
honest  man,  and  no  proof  could  have  been  found  to 
justify  an  accusation  against  him.  According  to  the 
jurisprudence  of  the  least  thieving  cook  in  Paris,  he 
shared  with  the  count  in  the  profits  due  to  his  own 


A  Start  in  Life,  35 

capable  management.  This  manner  of  swelling  his 
fortune  was  simply  a  case  of  conscience,  that  was  all. 
Alert,  and  thoroughly  understanding  the  count's  inter- 
ests, Moreau  watched  for  opportunities  to  make  good 
purchases  all  the  more  eagerty,  because  he  gained  a 
larger  percentage  on  them.  Presles  returned  a  revenue 
of  seventy  thousand  francs  net.  It  was  a  saying  of  the 
country-side  for  a  circuit  of  thirty  miles  :  — 

11  Monsieur  de  Seriz}'  has  a  second  self  in  Moreau. " 
Being  a  prudent  man,  Moreau  invested  yearly,  after 
1817,  both  his  profits  and  his  salary  on  the  Grand 
Livre,  piling  up  his  heap  with  the  utmost  secrecy.  He 
often  refused  proposals  on  the  plea  of  want  of  mone}- ; 
and  he  played  the  poor  man  so  successfully  with  the 
count  that  the  latter  gave  him  the  means  to  send  both 
his  sons  to  the  school  Henri  IV.  At  the  present  mo- 
ment Moreau  was  worth  one  hundred  and  twent}'  thou- 
sand francs  of  capital  invested  in  the  Consolidated 
thirds,  now  paying  five  per  cent,  and  quoted  at  eighty 
francs.  These  carefully  hidden  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  francs,  and  his  farm  at  Champagne,  enlarged 
b}-  subsequent  purchases,  amounted  to  a  fortune  of 
about  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  francs,  giving 
him  an  income  of  some  sixteen  thousand. 

Such  was  the  position  of  the  steward  at  the  time 
when  the  Comte  de  Serizy  desired  to  purchase  the  farm 
of  Moulineaux, — the  ownership  of  which  was  indis- 


36  A  Start  in  Life. 

pensable  to  his  comfort.  This  farm  consisted  of  ninet}T- 
six  parcels  of  land  bordering  the  estate  of  Presles,  and 
frequently  running  into  it,  producing  the  most  annoy- 
ing discussions  as  to  the  trimming  of  hedges  and 
ditches  and  the  cutting  of  trees.  Any  other  than  a 
cabinet  minister  would  probably  have  had  scores  of 
lawsuits  on  his  hands.  Pere  Leger  onty  wished  to  buy 
the  property  in  order  to  sell  to  the  count  at  a  hand- 
some advance.  In  order  to  secure  the  exorbitant  sum 
on  which  his  mind  was  set,  the  farmer  had  long  endeav- 
ored to  come  to  an  understanding  with  Moreau.  Im- 
pelled by  circumstances,  he  had,  only  three  da}'s  before 
this  critical  Saturday,  had  a  talk  with  the  steward  in 
the  open  field,  and  proved  to  him  clearly  that  he 
(Moreau)  could  make  the  count  invest  his  money  at 
two  and  a  half  per  cent,  and  thus  appear  to  serve  his 
patron's  interests,  while  he  himself  pocketed  forty  thou- 
sand francs  which  Leger  offered  him  to  bring  about  the 
transaction. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  the  steward  to  his  wife,  as  he 
went  to  bed  that  night,  "  if  I  make  fifty  thousand  francs 
out  of  the  Moulineaux  affair,  —  and  I  certainly  shall,  for 
the  count  will  give  me  ten  thousand  as  a  fee,  —  we  '11  re- 
tire to  Isle- Adam  and  live  in  the  Pavilion  de  Nogent." 

This  pavilion  was  a  charming  place,  originally  built 
by  the  Prince  de  Conti  for  a  mistress,  and  in  it  every 
convenience  and  luxury  had  been  placed. 


A  Start  in  Life.  37 

"That  will  suit  me,"  said  his  wife.  "  The  Dutch- 
man who  lives  there  has  put  it  in  good  order,  and  now 
that  he  is  obliged  to  return  to  India,  he  would  probably 
let  us  have  it  for  thirty  thousand  francs." 

44  We  shall  be  close  to  Champagne,"  said  Moreau. 
44  I  am  in  hopes  of  buying  the  farm  and  mill  of  Mours 
for  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  That  would  give  us 
ten  thousand  a  \*ear  in  rentals.  Nogent  is  one  of  the 
most  delightful  residences  in  the  valley  ;  and  we  should 
still  have  an  income  of  ten  thousand  from  the  Grand- 
Livre." 

44  But  why  don't  3*011  ask  for  the  post  of  juge-de-paix 
at  Isle-Adam?  That  would  give  us  influence,  and  fifteen 
hundred  a  year  salary." 

44  Well,  I  did  think  of  it." 

With  these  plans  in  mind,  Moreau,  as  soon  as  he 
heard  from  the  count  that  he  was  coming  to  Presles, 
and  wished  him  to  invite  Margueron  to  dinner  on  Sat- 
urday, sent  off  an  express  to  the  count's  head-valet, 
inclosing  a  letter  to  his  master,  which  the  messenger 
failed  to  deliver  before  Monsieur  de  Seriz}-  retired  at 
his  usually  early  hour.  Augustin,  however,  placed  it, 
according  to  custom  in  such  cases,  on  his  master's  desk. 
In  this  letter  Moreau  begged  the  count  not  to  trouble 
himself  to  come  down,  but  to  trust  entirely  to  him. 
Be  added  that  Margueron  was  no  longer  willing  to  sell 
the  whole  in  one  block,  and  talked  of  cutting  the  farm 


38  A  Start  in  Life. 

up  into  a  number  of  small  lots.  It  was  necessary  to 
circumvent  this  plan,  and  perhaps,  added  Moreau,  it 
might  be  best  to  employ  a  third  party  to  make  the 
purchase. 

Everybody  has  enemies  in  this  life.  Now  the  stew- 
ard and  his  wife  had  wounded  the  feelings  of  a  retired 
army  officer,  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  and  his  wife,  who 
were  living  near  Presles.  From  speeches  like  pin-pricks, 
matters  had  advanced  to  dagger-thrusts.  Monsieur  de 
Re}-bert  breathed  vengeance.  He  was  determined  to 
make  Moreau  lose  his  situation  and  gain  it  himself. 
The  two  ideas  were  twins.  Thus  the  proceedings  of 
the  steward,  spied  upon  for  two  years,  were  no  secret 
to  Reybert.  The  same  conveyance  that  took  Moreau's 
letter  to  the  count  conveyed  Madame  de  Reybert,  whom 
her  husband  despatched  to  Paris.  There  she  asked 
with  such  earnestness  to  see  the  count  that  although 
she  was  sent  away  at  nine  o'clock,  he  having  then  gone 
to  bed,  she  was  ushered  into  his  study  the  next  morn- 
ing at  seven. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said  to  the  cabinet-minister,  "  we 
are  incapable,  my  husband  and  I,  of  writing  anony- 
mous letters,  therefore  I  have  come  to  see  you  in  per- 
son. I  am  Madame  de  Reybert,  nee  de  Corro\T.  My 
husband  is  a  retired  officer,  with  a  pension  of  six 
hundred  francs,  and  we  live  at  Presles,  where  your 
steward  has  offered  us  insult  after  insult,  although  we 


A  Start  in  Life.  39 

are  persons  of  good  station.  Monsieur  de  Reybert, 
who  is  not  an  intriguing  man,  far  from  it,  is  a  caj>- 
tain  of  artillery,  retired  in  1816,  having  served  twenty 
years,  —  always  at  a  distance  from  the  Emperor,  Mon- 
sieur le  comte.  You  know  of  course  how  difficult  it  is 
for  soldiers  who  are  not  under  the  eye  of  their  master  to 
obtain  promotion,  —  not  counting  that  the  integrity  and 
frankness  of  Monsieur  de  Reybert  were  displeasing  to 
his  superiors.  My  husband  has  watched  your  steward 
for  the  last  three  }Tears,  being  aware  of  his  dishonesty 
and  intending  to  have  him  lose  his  place.  We  are, 
as  you  see,  quite  frank  with  you.  Moreau  has  made 
us  his  enemies,  and  we  have  watched  him.  I  have  come 
to  tell  you  that  you  are  being  tricked  in  the  purchase 
of  the  Molineaux  farm.  They  mean  to  get  an  extra  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  out  of  you,  which  are  to  be  divided 
between  the  notary,  the  farmer  Leger,  and  Moreau. 
You  have  written  Moreau  to  invite  Margueron,  and  you 
are  going  to  Presles  to-day  ;  but  Margueron  will  be  ill, 
and  Leger  is  so  certain  of  buying  the  farm  that  he 
is  now  in  Paris  to  draw  the  money.  If  we  have  en- 
lightened you  as  to  what  is  going  on,  and  if  you  want 
an  upright  steward  you  will  take  my  husband  ;  though 
noble,  he  will  serve  you  as  he  has  served  the  State. 
Your  steward  has  made  a  fortune  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs  out  of  his  place  ;  he  is  not  to 
be  pitied  therefore." 


40  A  Start  in  Life. 

The  count  thanked  Madame  de  Reybert  coldly,  be- 
stowing upon  her  the  hoh'-water  of  courts,  for  he  de- 
spised backbiting ;  but  for  all  that,  he  remembered 
Derville's  doubts,  and  felt  inwardly  shaken.  Just  then 
he  saw  his  steward's  letter  and  read  it.  In  its  assur- 
ances  of  devotion  and  its  respectful  reproaches  for  the 
distrust  implied  in  wishing  to  negotiate  the  purchase 
for  himself,  he  read  the  truth. 

44  Corruption  has  come  to  him  with  fortune,  —  as  it 
always  does ! "   he  said  to  himself. 

The  count  then  made  several  inquiries  of  Madame 
de  Reybert,  less  to  obtain  information  than  to  gain  time 
to  observe  her ;  and  he  wrote  a  short  note  to  his  notary 
telling  him  not  to  send  his  head-clerk  to  Presles  as 
requested,  but  to  come  there  himself  in  time  for  dinner. 

"Though  Monsieur  le  comte,"  said  Madame  de 
Reybert  in  conclusion,  M  may  have  judged  me  unfavor- 
ably for  the  step  I  have  taken  unknown  to  my  hus- 
band, he  ought  to  be  convinced  that  we  have  obtained 
this  information  about  his  steward  in  a  natural  and 
honorable  manner ;  the  most  sensitive  conscience  can- 
not take  exception  to  it." 

So  saying,  Madame  de  Reybert,  nee  de  Corroy,  stood 
erect  as  a  pike-staff.  She  presented  to  the  rapid  in- 
vestigation of  the  count  a  face  seamed  with  the  small- 
pox like  a  colander  with  holes,  a  flat,  spare  figure,  two 
light  and  eager  eyes,   fair  hair  plastered  down   upon 


A  Start  in  Life.  41 

an  anxious  forehead,  a  small  drawn-bonnet  of  faded 
green  taffetas  lined  with  pink,  a  white  gown  with  violet 
spots,  and  leather  shoes.  The  count  recognized  the 
wife  of  some  poor,  half-pay  captain,  a  puritan,  sub- 
scribing no  doubt  to  the  k4  Courrier  Francois,"  earnest 
in  virtue,  but  aware  of  the  comfort  of  a  good  situation 
and  eagerl}*  coveting  it. 

44  You  say  your  husband  has  a  pension  of  six  hun- 
dred francs,"  he  said,  replying  to  his  own  thoughts,  and 
not  to  the  remark  Madame  de  Reybert  had  just  made. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

44  You  were  born  a  Corroy  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur, — a  noble  family  of  Metz,  where 
my  husband  belongs." 

44  In  what  regiment  did  Monsieur  de  Reybert  serve?  " 

44  The  7th  artillery." 

44  Good  !  "  said  the  count,  writing  down  the  number. 

He  had  thought  at  one  time  of  giving  the  manage- 
ment of  the  estate  to  some  retired  army  officer,  about 
whom  he  could  obtain  exact  information  from  the  min- 
ister of  war. 

44  Madame,"  he  resumed,  ringing  for  his  valet,  44  re- 
turn to  Presles,  this  afternoon  with  my  notary,  who  is 
going  down  there  for  dinner,  and  to  whom  I  have  rec- 
ommended you.  Here  is  his  address.  I  am  going 
myself  secretly  to  Presles,  and  will  send  for  Monsieur 
de  Reybert  to  come  and  speak  to  me." 


42  A  Start  in  Life. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  Monsieur  de  Serizy's  jour- 
ney by  a  public  conveyance,  and  the  injunction  con- 
ve\'ed  by  the  valet  to  conceal  his  name  and  rank  had 
not  unnecessarily  alarmed  Pierrotin.  That  worthy  had 
just  forebodings  of  a  danger  which  was  about  to  swoop 
down  upon  one  of  his  best  customers. 


A  Start  in  Life.  43 


III. 


THE    TRAVELLERS. 

As  Pierrotin  issued  from  the  Cafe  de  r^chiquier, 
after  treating  the  valet,  he  saw  in  the  gate-way  of  the 
Lion  d' Argent  the  lady  and  the  young  man  in  whom 
his  perspicacity  at  once  detected  customers,  for  the 
lady  with  outstretched  neck  and  anxious  face  was  evi- 
dently looking  for  him.  She  was  dressed  in  a  black- 
silk  gown  that  was  dyed,  a  brown  bonnet,  an  old 
French  cashmere  shawl,  raw-silk  stockings,  and  low 
shoes ;  and  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  straw  bag  and  a 
blue  umbrella.  This  woman,  who  had  once  been  beau- 
tiful, seemed  to  be  about  forty  years  of  age ;  but  her 
blue  eyes,  deprived  of  the  fire  which  happiness  puts 
there,  told  plainly  that  she  had  long  renounced  the 
world.  Her  dress,  as  well  as  her  whole  air  and  man- 
ner, indicated  a  mother  wholly  devoted  to  her  house- 
hold and  her  son.  If  the  strings  of  her  bonnet  were 
faded,  the  shape  betrayed  that  it  was  several  years  old. 
The  shawl  was  fastened  by  a  broken  needle  converted 
into  a  pin  by  a  head  of  sealing-wax.  She  was  waiting 
impatiently  for  Pierrotin,  wishing  to  recommend  to  his 
special  care  her  son,  who  was  doubtless  travelling  for 


44  A  Start  in  Life. 

the  first  time,  and  with  whom  she  had  come  to  the 
coach-office  as  much  from  doubt  of  his  ability  as  from 
maternal  affection. 

This  mother  was  in  a  way  completed  by  the  son,  so 
that  the  son  would  not  be  understood  without  the 
mother.  If  the  mother  condemned  herself  to  mended 
gloves,  the  son  wore  an  olive-green  coat  with  sleeves 
too  short  for  him,  proving  that  he  had  grown,  and 
might  grow  still  more,  like  other  adults  of  eighteen  or 
nineteen  years  of  age.  The  blue  trousers,  mended  by 
his  mother,  presented  to  the  eye  a  brighter  patch  of 
color  when  the  coat-tails  maliciously  parted  behind  him. 

"  Don't  rub  your  gloves  that  way,  you  '11  spoil  them," 
she  was  saying  as  Pierrotin  appeared.  "Is  this  the 
conductor?  Ah  !  Pierrotin,  is  it  you?"  she  exclaimed, 
leaving  her  son  and  taking  the  coachman  apart  a  few 
steps. 

"I  hope  you  're  well,  Madame  Clapart,"  he  replied, 
with  an  air  that  expressed  both  respect  and  familiarit3r. 

"  Yes,  Pierrotin,  very  well.  Please  take  good  care 
of  my  Oscar ;  he  is  travelling  alone  for  the  first  time." 

"  Oh!  so  he  is  going  alone  to  Monsieur  Moreau  !  " 
cried  Pierrotin,  for  the  purpose  of  finding  out  whether 
he  were  reall3T  going  there. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Then  Madame  Moreau  is  willing?"  returned  Pier- 
rotin, with  a  sly  look. 


o 


<* 


A  Start  in  Life.  45 

4 'Ah!"  said  the  mother,  "it  will  not  be  all  roses 
for  him,  poor  child  !  But  his  future  absolutely  requires 
that  I  should  send  him." 

This  answer  struck  Pierrotin,  who  hesitated  to  con- 
fide his  fears  for  the  steward  to  Madame  Clapart,  while 
she,  on  her  part,  was  afraid  of  injuring  her  boy  if  she 
asked  Pierrotin  for  a  care  which  might  have  trans- 
formed him  into  a  mentor.  During  this  short  delibera- 
tion, which  was  ostensibly  covered  by  a  few  phrases  as 
to  the  weather,  the  journey,  and  the  stopping-places 
along  the  road,  we  will  ourselves  explain  what  were  the 
ties  that  united  Madame  Clapart  with  Pierrotin,  and 
authorized  the  two  confidential  remarks  which  they  have 
just  exchanged. 

Often  —  that  is  to  say,  three  or  four  times  a  month  — 
Pierrotin,  on  his  way  to  Paris,  would  find  the  steward 
on  the  road  near  La  Cave.  As  soon  as  the  vehicle 
came  up,  Moreau  would  sign  to  a  gardener,  who,  with 
Pierrotin's  help,  would  put  upon  the  coach  either  one 
or  two  baskets  containing  the  fruits  and  vegetables  of 
the  season,  chickens,  eggs,  butter,  and  game.  The 
steward  always  paid  the  carriage  and  Pierrotin's  fee, 
adding  the  money  necessary  to  pay  toll  at  the  barri&re, 
if  the  baskets  contained  anything  dutiable.  These 
baskets,  hampers,  or  packages,  were  never  directed  to 
an}'  one.  On  the  first  occasion,  which  served  for  all 
others,  the  steward  had  given  Madame  Clapart's  ad- 


46  A  Start  in  Life. 

dress  by  word  of  mouth  to  the  discreet  Pierrotin, 
requesting  him  never  to  deliver  to  others  the  precious 
packages.  Pierrotin,  impressed  with  the  idea  of  an 
intrigue  between  the  steward  and  some  pretty  girl,  had 
gone  as  directed  to  number  7  rue  de  la  Cerisaie,  in 
the  Arsenal  quarter,  and  had  there  found  the  Madame 
Clapart  just  portrayed,  instead  of  the  young  and  beau- 
tiful creature  he  expected  to  find. 

The  drivers  of  public  conveyances  and  carriers  are 
called  by  their  business  to  enter  man}-  homes,  and  to 
be  cognizant  of  many  secrets  ;  but  social  accident,  that 
sub-providence,  having  willed  that  they  be  without 
education  and  devoid  of  the  talent  of  observation,  it 
follows  that  they  are  not  dangerous.  Nevertheless,  at 
the  end  of  a  few  months,  Pierrotin  was  puzzled  to 
explain  the  exact  relations  of  Monsieur  Moreau  and 
Madame  Clapart  from  what  he  saw  of  the  household  in 
the  rue  de  la  Cerisaie.  Though  lodgings  were  not  dear 
at  that  time  in  the  Arsenal  quarter,  Madame  Clapart 
lived  on  a  third  floor  at  the  end  of  a  court-yard,  in  a 
house  which  was  formerly  that  of  a  great  family,  in  the 
days  when  the  higher  nobility  of  the  kingdom  lived  on 
the  ancient  site  of  the  Palais  des  Tournelles  and  the 
hotel  Saint-Paul.  Toward  the  end  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  the  great  seigneurs  divided  among  themselves 
these  vast  spacesa  once  occupied  by  the  gardens  of  the 
kings  of  France,  as  indicated  by  the  present  names  of 


A  Start  in  Life.  47 

the  streets,  —  Cerisaie,  Beautreillis,  des  Lions,  etc. 
Madame  Clapart's  apartment,  which  was  panelled 
throughout  with  ancient  carvings,  consisted  of  three 
connecting  rooms,  a  dining-room,  salon,  and  bedroom. 
Above  it  was  the  kitchen,  and  a  bedroom  for  Oscar. 
Opposite  to  the  entrance,  on  what  is  called  in  Paris 
le  carre,  —  that  is,  the  square  landing,  —  was  the  door 
of  a  back  room,  opening,  on  every  floor,  into  a  sort  of 
tower  built  of  rough  stone,  in  which  was  also  the  well 
for  the  staircase.  This  was  the  room  in  which  Moreau 
slept  whenever  he  went  to  Paris. 

Pierrotin  had  seen  in  the  first  room,  where  he  depos- 
ited the  hampers,  six  wooden  chairs  with  straw  seats,  a 
table,  and  a  sideboard ;  at  the  windows,  discolored  cur- 
tains. Later,  when  he  entered  the  salon,  he  noticed 
some  old  Empire  furniture,  now  shabby ;  but  only  as 
much  as  all  proprietors  exact  to  secure  their  rent. 
Pierrotin  judged  of  the  bedroom  by  the  salon  and 
dining- room.  The  wood- work,  painted  coarsely  of  a 
reddish  white,  which  thickened  and  blurred  the  mould- 
ings and  figurines,  far  from  being  ornamental,  was  dis- 
tressing to  the  e}'e.  The  floors,  never  waxed,  were 
of  that  gray  tone  we  see  in  boarding-schools.  When 
Pierrotin  came  upon  Monsieur  and  Madame  Clapart  at 
their  meals  he  saw  that  their  china,  glass,  and  all  other 
little  articles  betrayed  the  utmost  povert}* ;  and  yet, 
though  the   chipped  and  mended  dishes  and  tureens 


48  A  Start  in  Life. 

were  those  of  the  poorest  families  and  provoked  pity, 
the  forks  and  spoons  were  of  silver. 

Monsieur  Clapart,  clothed  in  a  shabby  surtout,  his 
feet  in  broken  slippers,  always  wore  green  spectacles, 
and  exhibited,  whenever  he  removed  his  shabby  cap 
of  a  bygone  period,  a  pointed  skull,  from  the  top  of 
which  trailed  a  few  dirty  filaments  which  even  a  poet 
could  scarcely  call  hair.  This  man,  of  wan  complex- 
ion, seemed  timorous,  but  withal  tyrannical. 

In  this  dreary  apartment,  which  faced  the  north  and 
had  no  other  outlook  than  to  a  vine  on  the  opposite 
wall  and  a  well  in  the  corner  of  the  yard,  Madame 
Clapart  bore  herself  with  the  airs  of  a  queen,  and 
moved  like  a  woman  unaccustomed  to  go  anywhere  on 
foot.  Often,  while  thanking  Pierrotin,  she  gave  him 
glances  which  would  have  touched  to  pity  an  intelli- 
gent observer  ;  from  time  to  time  she  would  slip  a  twelve- 
sous  piece  into  his  hand,  and  then  her  voice  was  charm- 
ing. Pierrotin  had  never  seen  Oscar,  for  the  reason 
that  the  boy  was  always  in  school  at  the  time  his 
business  took  him  to  the  house. s 

Here  is  the  sad  story  which  Pierrotin  could  never 
have  discovered,  even  by  asking  for  information,  as  he 
sometimes  did,  from  the  portress  of  the  house ;  for 
that  individual  knew  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  the 
Claparts  paid  a  rent  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
a  year,   had  no  servant  but  a  charwoman  who  came 


A  Start  in  Life.  49 

daily  for  a  few  hours  in  the  morning,  that  Madame 
Clapart  did  some  of  her  smaller  washing  herself,  and 
paid  the  postage  on  her  letters  daily,  being  apparently 
unable  to  let  the  sum  aceumulate. 

There  does  not  exist,  or  rather,  there  seldom  exists, 
a  criminal  who  is  wholly  criminal.  Neither  do  we  ever 
meet  with  a  dishonest  nature  which  is  completely  dis- 
honest. It  is  possible  for  a  man  to  cheat  his  master 
to  his  own  advantage,  or  rake  in  for  himself  alone  all 
the  hay  in  the  manger,  but,  even  while  laying  up  cap- 
ital by  actions  more  or  less  illicit,  there  are  few  men 
who  never  do  good  ones.  If  only  from  self-love,  curi- 
osity, or  by  way  of  variety,  or  by  chance,  every  man 
has  his  moment  of  beneficence ;  he  may  call  it  his 
error,  he  may  never  do  it  again,  but  he  sacrifices  to 
Goodness,  as  the  most  surly  man  sacrifices  to  the 
Graces  once  or  twice  in  his  life.  If  Moreau's  faults 
can  ever  be  excused,  it  might  be  on  the  score  of  his 
persistent  kindness  in  succoring  a  poor  woman  of 
whose  favors  he  had  once  been  proud,  and  in  whose 
house  he  was  hidden  when  in  peril  of  his  life. 

This  woman,  celebrated  under  the  Directory  for  her 
liaison  with  one  of  the  five  kings  of  that  reign,  mar- 
ried, through  that  all-powerful  protection,  a  purveyor 
who  was  making  his  millions  out  of  the  government, 
and  whom  Napoleon  ruined  in  1802.  This  man,  named 
Husson,  became  insane  through  his  sudden  fall  from  op- 

4 


50  A  Start  in  Life. 

ulence  to  penury  ;  he  flung  himself  into  the  Seine,  leav- 
ing the  beautiful  Madame  Husson  pregnant.  Moreau, 
very  intimatel}'  allied  with  Madame  Husson,  was  at 
that  time  condemned  to  death ;  he  was  unable  there- 
fore to  marry  the  widow,  being  forced  to  leave  France. 
Madame  Husson,  then  twenty-two  years  old,  married 
in  her  deep  distress  a  government  clerk  named  Clapart, 
aged  twenty-seven,  who  was  said  to  be  a  rising  man. 
At  that  period  of  our  history,  government  clerks  were 
apt  to  become  persons  of  importance ;  for  Napoleon 
was  ever  on  the  lookout  for  capacity.  But  Clapart, 
though  endowed  by  nature  with  a  certain  coarse  beauty, 
proved  to  have  no  intelligence.  Thinking  Madame 
Husson  ver}T  rich,  he  feigned  a  great  passion  for  her, 
and  was  simply  saddled  with  the  impossibility  of  sat- 
isfying either  then  or  in  the  future  the  wants  she  had 
acquired  in  a  life  of  opulence.  He  filled,  ver}'  poorly, 
a  place  in  the  Treasuiy  that  gave  him  a  salary  of  eigh- 
teen hundred  francs  ;  which  was  all  the  new  household 
had  to  live  on.  When  Moreau  returned  to  France  as 
the  secretary  of  the  Comte  de  Serizy  he  heard  of 
Madame  Husson's  pitiable  condition,  and  he  was  able, 
before  his  own  marriage,  to  get  her  an  appointment 
as  head-waiting-woman  to  Madame  Mere,  the  Em- 
peror's mother.  But  in  spite  of  that  powerful  protec- 
tion Clapart  was  never  promoted ;  his  incapacity  was 
too  apparent. 


A  Start  in  Life.  51 

Ruined  in  1815  by  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  the  bril- 
liant Aspasia  of  the  Directory  had  no  other  resources 
than  Clapart's  salary  of  twelve  hundred  francs  from  a 
I'krkship  obtained  for  him  through  the  Comte  de  Serizy. 
Moreau,  the  only  protector  of  a  woman  whom  he  had 
known  in  possession  of  millions,  obtained  a  half- 
scholarship  for  her  son,  Oscar  Husson,  at  the  school 
of  Henri  IV.;  and  he  sent  her  regularly,  by  Pierrotin,* 
such  supplies  from  the  estate  at  Presles  as  he  could 
decently  offer  to  a  household  in  distress. 

Oscar  was  the  whole  life  and  all  the  future  of  his 
mother.  The  poor  woman  could  now  be  reproached 
with  no  other  fault  than  her  exaggerated  tenderness  for 
her  boy, —  the  bete-noire  of  his  step-father.  Oscar  was, 
unfortunately,  endowed  by  nature  with  a  foolishness 
his  mother  did  not  perceive,  in  spite  of  the  step- father's 
sarcasms.  This  foolishness  —  or,  to  speak  more  spe- 
cifically, this  overweening  conceit  —  so  troubled  Mon- 
sieur Moreau  that  he  begged  Madame  Clapart  to  send 
the  boy  down  to  him  for  a  month  that  he  might  stud}' 
his  character,  and  find  out  what  career  he  was  fit  for. 
Moreau  was  really  thinking  of  some  day  proposing 
Oscar  to  the  count  as  his  successor. 

But  to  give  to  the  devil  and  to  God  what  respectively 
belongs  to  them,  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  show  the 
causes  of  Oscar  Ilusson's  silly  self-conceit,  premising 
that  he  was  born  in  the  household  of  Madame  Mere. 


52  A  Start  in  Life. 

During  his  early  childhood  his  eyes  were  dazzled  by 
imperial  splendors.  His  pliant  imagination  retained 
the  impression  of  those  gorgeous  scenes,  and  nursed 
the  images  of  a  golden  time  of  pleasure  in  hopes  of 
recovering  them.  The  natural  boastfulness  of  school- 
bo}rs  (possessed  of  a  desire  to  outshine  their  mates) 
resting  on  these  memories  of  his  childhood  was  devel- 
oped in  him  beyond  all  measure.  It  may  also  have 
been  that  his  mother  at  home  dwelt  too  fondly  on  the 
daj's  when  she  herself  was  a  queen  in  Directorial  Paris. 
At  any  rate,  Oscar,  who  was  now  leaving  school,  had 
been  made  to  bear  many  humiliations  which  the  paying 
pupils  put  upon  those  who  hold  scholarships,  unless  the 
scholars  are  able  to  impose  respect  b}7  superior  physical 
ability. 

This  mixture  of  former  splendor  now  departed,  of 
beauty  gone,  of  blind  maternal  love,  of  sufferings  hero- 
ically borne,  made  the  mother  one  of  those  pathetic 
figures  which  catch  the  e}-e  of  many  an  observer  in 
Paris. 

Incapable,  naturally,  of  understanding  the  real  at- 
tachment of  Moreau  to  this  woman,  or  that  of  the 
woman  for  the  man  she  had  saved  in  1797,  now  her 
only  friend,  Pierrotin  did  not  think  it  best  to  commu- 
nicate the  suspicion  that  had  entered  his  head  as  to 
some  danger  which  was  threatening  Moreau.  The 
valet's  speech,  "  We  have  enough  to  do  in  this  world 


A  Start  in  Life.  53 

to  look  after  ourselves,"  returned  to  his  mind,  and  with 
it  came  that  sentiment  of  obedience  to  what  he  called 
the  chefs  defile,  —  the  front-rank  men  in  war,  and  men 
of  rank  in  peace.  Besides,  just  now  Pierrotin's  head 
was  as  full  of  his  own  stings  as  there  are  five-franc 
pieces  in  a  thousand  francs.  So  that  the  "  Very  good, 
madame,"  44  Certainly,  madame,"  with  which  he  re- 
plied to  the  poor  mother,  to  whom  a  trip  of  twenty 
miles  appeared  a  journey,  showed  plainly  that  he 
desired  to  get  away  from  her  useless  and  prolix 
instructions. 

44  You  will  be  sure  to  place  the  packages  so  that 
the}'  cannot  get  wet  if  the  weather  should  happen  to 
change." 

"I've  a  hood,"  replied  Pierrotin.  "  Besides,  see, 
madame,  with  what  care  the}'  are  being  placed." 

44  Oscar,  don't  stay  more  than  two  weeks,  no  matter 
how  much  they  may  ask  you,"  continued  Madame  Cla- 
part,  returning  to  her  son.  44  You  can't  please  Madame 
Moreau,  whatever  you  do;  besides,  you  must  be  home 
by  the  end  of  September.  We  are  to  go  to  Belleville, 
you  know,  to  your  uncle  Cardot." 

44  Yes,  mamma." 

44  Above  all,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  44be  sure 
never  to  speak  about  servants ;  keep  thinking  all  the 
time  that  Madame  Moreau  was  once  a  waiting-maid." 

44  Yes,  mamma." 


54  A  Start  in  Life. 

Oscar,  like  all  youths  whose  vanity  is  excessively 
ticklish,  seemed  annoyed  at  being  lectured  on  the 
threshold  of  the  Lion  d 'Argent. 

44  Well,  now  good-bye,  mamma.  We  shall  start  soon  ; 
there  's  the  horse  all  harnessed.'' 

The  mother,  forgetting  that  she  was  in  the  open 
street,  embraced  her  Oscar,  and  said,  smiling,  as  she 
took  a  little  roll  from  her  basket :  — 

"  Tiens !  you  were  forgetting  your  roll  and  the 
chocolate  !  My  child,  once  more,  I  repeat,  don't  take 
anything  at  the  inns ;  they  'd  make  you  pay  for  the 
slightest  thing  ten  times  what  it  is  worth." 

Oscar  would  fain  have  seen  his  mother  farther  off  as- 
she  stuffed  the  bread  and  chocolate  into  his  pocket. 
The  scene  had  two  witnesses,  —  two  young  men  a  few 
years  older  than  Oscar,  better  dressed  than  he,  without 
a  mother  hanging  on  to  them,  whose  actions,  dress, 
and  ways  all  betokened  that  complete  independence 
which  is  the  one  desire  of  a  lad  still  tied  to  his  mother's 
apron-strings. 

44  He  said  mamma/"  cried  one  of  the  new-comers, 
laughing. 

The  words  reached  Oscar's  ears  and  drove  him  to 
say,  44Good-b3'e,  mother!"  in  a  tone  of  terrible 
impatience. 

Let  us  admit  that  Madame  Clapart  spoke  too  loudly, 
and  seemed  to  wish  to  show  to  those  around  them  her 
tenderness  for  the  boy. 


A  Start  in  Life.  55 

u  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Oscar?"  asked  the 
poor  hurt  woman.  M  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
you,"  she  added  in  a  severe  tone,  fancying  herself 
able  to  inspire  him  with  respect, — a  great  mistake 
made  b}-  those  who  spoil  their  children.  M  Listen,  my 
Oscar,"  she  said,  resuming  at  once  her  tender  voice, 
u  j'ou  have  a  propensity  to  talk,  and  to  tell  all  3*011 
know,  and  all  that  you  don't  know ;  and  you  do  it  to 
show  off,  with  the  foolish  vanity  of  a  mere  lad.  Now,- 1 
repeat,  endeavor  to  keep  your  tongue  in  check.  You 
are  not  sufficiently  advanced  in  life,  nry  treasure,  to  be 
able  to  judge  of  the  persons  with  whom  you  may  be 
thrown  ;  and  there  is  nothing  more  dangerous  than  to 
talk  in  public  conve3'ances.  Besides,  in  a  diligence 
well-bred  persons  alwa3*s  keep  silence." 

The  two  young  men,  who  seemed  to  have  walked  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  establishment,  here  returned,  mak- 
ing their  boot-heels  tap  upon  the  paved  passage  of  the 
porte-cochere.  They  might  have  heard  the  whole  of 
this  maternal  homil3T.  So,  in  order  to  rid  himself  of 
his  mother,  Oscar  had  recourse  to  an  heroic  measure, 
which  proved  how  vanit3T  stimulates  the  intellect. 

"  Mamma,"  he  said,  "  3-011  are  standing  in  a  draught, 
and  you  ma3'  take  cold.  Besides,  I  am  going  to  get 
into  the  coach." 

The  lad  must  have  touched  some  tender  spot,  for 
his  mother  caught  him  to  her  bosom,    kissed  him  as 


56  A  Start  in  Life. 

if  he  were  starting  upon  a  long  journey,  and  went  with 
him  to  the  vehicle  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  forget  to  give  live  francs  to  the  servants 
when  you  come  awa}',"  she  said  ;  u  write  me  three  times 
at  least  during  the  fifteen  da3's ;  behave  properly,  and 
remember  all  that  I  have  told  you.  You  have  linen 
enough ;  don't  send  an}'  to  the  wash.  Above  all,  re- 
member Monsieur  Moreau's  kindness ;  mind  him  as 
3'ou  would  a  father,  and  follow  his  advice." 

As  he  got  into  the  coach,  Oscar's  blue  woollen  stock- 
ings became  visible,  through  the  action  of  his  trousers 
which  drew  up  suddenty,  also  the  new  patch  in  the  said 
trousers  was  seen,  through  the  parting  of  his  coat-tails. 
The  smiles  of  the  two  young  men,  on  whom  these  signs 
of  an  honorable  indigence  were  not  lost,  were  so  many 
fresh  wounds  to  the  lad's  vanity. 

"  The  first  place  was  engaged  for  Oscar,"  said  the 
mother  to  Pierrotin.  "  Take  the  back  seat,"  she  said 
to  the  bo}',  looking  fondty  at  him  with  a  loving  smile. 

Oh !  how  Oscar  regretted  that  trouble  and  sorrow 
had  destro37ed  his  mother's  beauty,  and  that  povert}-  and 
self-sacrifice  prevented  her  from  being  better  dressed ! 
One  of  the  young  men,  the  one  who  wore  top-boots  and 
spurs,  nudged  the  other  to  make  him  take  notice  of 
Oscar's  mother,  and  the  other  twirled  his  moustache 
with  a  gesture  which  signified,  — 

"  Rather  pretty  figure !  " 


A  Start  in  Life.  57 

"How  shall  I  ever  get  rid  of  mamma?"  thought 
Oscar. 

"What's  the  matter?"   asked  Madame  Clapart. 

Oscar  pretended  not  to  hear,  the  monster !  Perhaps 
Madame  Clapart  was  lacking  in  tact  under  the  circum- 
stances ;  but  all  absorbing  sentiments  have  so  much 
egotism  ! 

44  Georges,  do  you  like  children  when  travelling?" 
asked  one  young  man  of  the  other. 

"Yes,  my  good  Amaury,  if  they  are  weaned,  and 
are  named  Oscar,  and  have  chocolate." 

These  speeches  were  uttered  in  half-tones  to  allow 
Oscar  to  hear  them  or  not  hear  them  as  he  chose ;  his 
countenance  was  to  be  the  weather-gauge  by  which  the 
other  young  traveller  could  judge  how  much  fun  he 
might  be  able  to  get  out  of  the  lad  during  the  journe}'. 
Oscar  chose  not  to  hear.  He  looked  to  see  if  his  mother, 
who  weighed  upon  him  like  a  nightmare,  was  still  there, 
for  lie  felt  that  she  loved  him  too  well  to  leave  him  so 
quickly.  Not  only  did  he  involuntarily  compare  the 
dress  of  his  travelling  companion  with  his  own,  but  he 
felt  that  his  mother's  toilet  counted  for  much  in  the 
smiles  of  the  two  }'onng  men. 

"  If  they  would  only  take  themselves  off!"  he  said 
to  himself. 

Instead  of  that,  Amaury  remarked  to  Georges,  giving 
a  tap  with  his  cane  to  the  heavy  wheel  of  the  coucou : 


58  A  Start  in  Life. 

"  And  so,  my  friend,  you  are  really  going  to  trust 
your  future  to  this  fragile  bark  ?  " 

"I  must,"  replied  Georges,  in  a  tone  of  fatalism. 

Oscar  gave  a  sigh  as  he  remarked  the  jaunty  manner 
in  which  his  companion's  hat  was  stuck  on  one  ear 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  a  magnificent  head  of  blond 
hair  beautifully  brushed  and  curled  ;  while  he,  by  order 
of  his  step-father,  had  his  black  hair  cut  like  a  clothes- 
brush  across  the  forehead,  and  clipped,  like  a  soldier's, 
close  to  the  head.  The  face  of  the  vain  lad  was  round  and 
chubby  and  bright  with  the  hues  of  health,  while  that 
of  his  fellow-traveller  was  long,  and  delicate,  and  pale. 
The  forehead  of  the  latter  was  broad,  and  his  chest 
filled  out  a  waistcoat  of  a  cashmere  pattern.  As  Oscar 
admired  the  tight-fitting  iron-gray  trousers  and  the  over- 
coat with  its  frogs  and  olives  clasping  the  waist,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  this  romantic-looking  stranger, 
gifted  with  such  advantages,  insulted  him  by  his  superi- 
ority, just  as  an  ugly  woman  feels  injured  by  the  mere 
sight  of  a  pretty  one.  The  click  of  the  stranger's  boot- 
heels  offended  his  taste  and  echoed  in  his  heart.  He 
felt  as  hampered  by  his  own  clothes  (made  no  doubt 
at  home  out  of  those  of  his  step-father)  as  that  envied 
young  man  seemed  a^  ease  in  his. 

"  That  fellow  must  have  heaps  of  francs  in  his  trou- 
sers pocket,"  thought  Oscar. 

The  young  man  turned  round.     What  were  Oscar's 


A  Start  in  Life.  59 

feelings  on  beholding  a  gold  chain  round  his  neck,  at 
the  end  of  which  no  doubt  was  a  gold  watch !  From 
that  moment  the  young  man  assumed,  in  Oscar's  eyes, 
the  proportions  of  a  personage. 

Living  in  the  rue  de  la  Cerisaie  since  1815,  taken 
to  and  from  school  by  his  step-father,  Oscar  had 
no  other  points  of  comparison  since  his  adolescence 
than  the  poverty-stricken  household  of  his  mother. 
Brought  up  strictly,  by  Moreau's  advice,  he  seldom 
went  to  the  theatre,  and  then  to  nothing  better  than 
the  Ambigu-Comique,  where  his  eyes  could  see  little 
elegance,  if  indeed  the  e}*es  of  a  child  riveted  on  a 
melodrama  were  likely  to  examine  the  audience.  His 
step-father  still  wore,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Empire, 
his  watch  in  the  fob  of  his  trousers,  from  which  there 
depended  over  his  abdomen  a  heavy  gold  chain,  ending 
in  a  bunch  of  heterogeneous  ornaments,  seals,  and  a 
watch-key  with  a  round  top  and  flat  sides,  on  which 
was  a  landscape  in  mosaic.  Oscar,  who  considered  that 
old-fashioned  finery  as  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  adornment, 
was  bewildered  b}T  the  present  revelation  of  superior 
and  negligent  elegance.  The  young  man  exhibited, 
offensively,  a  pair  of  spotless  gloves,  and  seemed  to 
wish  to  dazzle  Oscar  by  twirling  with  much  grace  a 
gold-headed  switch  cane. 

Oscar  had  reached  that  last  quarter  of  adolescence 
when  little  things  cause  immense  joys  and  immense 


60  A  Start  in  Life. 

miseries,  —  a  period  when  youth  prefers  misfortune  to 
a  ridiculous  suit  of  clothes,  and  caring  nothing  for  the 
real  interests  of  life,  torments  itself  about  frivolities, 
about  neckcloths,  and  the  passionate  desire  to  appear  a 
man.  Then  the  young  fellow  swells  himself  out ;  his 
swagger  is  all  the  more  portentous  because  it  is  exer- 
cised on  nothings.  Yet  if  he  envies  a  fool  who  is  ele- 
gantly dressed,  he  is  also  capable  of  enthusiasm  over 
talent,  and  of  genuine  admiration  for  genius.  Such 
defects  as  these,  when  they  have  no  root  in  the  heart, 
prove  only  the  exuberance  of  sap,  —  the  richness  of  the 
youthful  imagination.  That  a  lad  of  nineteen,  an  only 
child,  kept  severely  at  home  b}^  poverty,  adored  by  a 
mother  who  put  upon  herself  all  privations  for  his 
sake,  should  be  moved  to  envy  by  a  }roung  man  of 
twenty-two  in  a  frogged  surtout-coat  silk-lined,  a  waist- 
coat of  fancy  cashmere,  and  a  cravat  slipped  through  a 
ring  of  the  worst  taste,  is  nothing  more  than  a  pecca- 
dillo committed  in  all  ranks  of  social  life  hy  inferiors 
who  envy  those  that  seem  beyond  them.  Men  of  genius 
themselves  succumb  to  this  primitive  passion.  Did  not 
Rousseau  admire  Ventura  and  Bade  ? 

But  Oscar  passed  from  peccadillo  to  evil  feelings. 
He  felt  humiliated  ;  he  was  angry  with  the  3'outh  he 
envied,  and  there  rose  in  his  heart  a  secret  desire  to 
show  openly  that  he  himself  was  as  good  as  the  object 
of  his  envy. 


A  Start  in  Life.  61 

The  two  young  fellows  continued  to  walk  up  and 
down  from  the  gate  to  the  stables,  and  from  the  stables 
to  the  gate.  Each  time  they  turned  they  looked  at 
Oscar  curled  up  in  his  corner  of  the  coucou.  Oscar, 
persuaded  that  their  jokes  and  laughter  concerned  him- 
self, affected  the  utmost  indifference.  He  began  to  hum 
the  chorus  of  a  song  lately  brought  into  vogue  by  the 
liberals,  which  ended  with  the  words,  "  T  is  Voltaire's 
fault,  't  is  Rousseau's  fault." 

44  Tiens !  perhaps  he  is  one  of  the  chorus  at  the 
Opera,"  said  Amaury. 

This  exasperated  Oscar,  who  bounded  up,  pulled  out 
the  wooden  l<  back,"  and  called  to  Pierrotin  :  — 

44  When  do  we  start?  " 

44  Presently,"  said  that  functional*}*,  who  was  stand- 
ing, whip  in  hand,  and  gazing  toward  the  rue  d'Enghien. 

At  this  moment  the  scene  was  enlivened  b}r  the  ar- 
rival of  a  young  man  accompanied  by  a  true  gamin, 
who  was  followed  by  a  porter  dragging  a  hand-cart. 
The  young  man  came  up  to  Pierrotin  and  spoke  to  him 
confidentially,  on  which  the  latter  nodded  his  head,  and 
called  to  his  own  porter.  The  man  ran  out  and  helped 
to  unload  the  little  hand-cart,  which  contained,  besides 
two  trunks,  buckets,  brushes,  boxes  of  singular  shape, 
and  an  infinity  of  packages  and  utensils  which  the 
youngest  of  the  new-comers,  who  had  climbed  into  the 
imperial,  stowed  away  with  such  celerity  that  Oscar, 


62  A  Start  in  Life. 

who  happened  to  be  smiling  at  his  mother,  now  sta- 
tioned on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  saw  none  of  the 
paraphernalia  which  might  have  revealed  to  him  the 
profession  of  his  new  travelling-companions. 

The  gamin,  who  must  have  been  sixteen  years  of  age, 
wore  a  gray  blouse  buckled  round  his  waist  b}T  a  pol- 
ished leather  belt.  His  cap,  jauntily  perched  on  the 
side  of  his  head,  seemed  the  sign  of  a  merry  nature, 
and  so  did  the  picturesque  disorder  of  the  curly  brown 
hair  which  fell  upon  his  shoulders.  A  black- silk  cravat 
drew  a  line  round  his  very  white  neck,  and  added  to 
the  vivacit}'  of  his  bright  gray  eyes.  The  animation  of 
his  brown  and  rosy  face,  the  moulding  of  his  rather 
large  lips,  the  ears  detached  from  his  head,  his  slightly 
turned-up  nose,  —  in  fact,  all  the  details  of  his  face 
proclaimed  the  lively  spirit  of  a  Figaro,  and  the  care- 
less ga}'et}r  of  youth,  while  the  vivacity  of  his  gesture 
and  his  mocking  eye  revealed  an  intellect  already  de- 
veloped b}'  the  practice  of  a  profession  adopted  very 
early  in  life.  As  he  had  already  some  claims  to  per- 
sonal value,  this  child,  made  man  by  Art  or  b}T  voca- 
tion, seemed  indifferent  to  the  question  of  costume  ;  for 
he  looked  at  his  boots,  which  had  not  been  polished, 
with  a  quizzical  air,  and  searched  for  the  spots  on  his 
brown  Holland  trousers  less  to  remove  them  than  to 
see  their  effect. 

"  I  'm  in  stj'le,"  he  said,  giving  himself  a  shake  and 
addressing  his  companion. 


A  Start  in  Life.  63 

The  glance  of  the  latter,  showed  authorit}'  over  his 
adept,  in  whom  a  practised  aya  would  at  once  have 
recognized  the  joyous  pupil  of  a  painter,  called  in  the 
argot  of  the  studios  a  rapin. 

"  Behave  yourself,  Mistigris,"  said  his  master,  giv- 
ing him  the  nickname  which  the  studio  had  no  doubt 
bestowed  upon  him. 

The  master  was  a  slight  and  pale  young  man,  with 
extremely  thick  black  hair,  worn  in  a  disorder  that  was 
actually  fantastic.  But  this  abundant  mass  of  hair 
seemed  necessary  to  an  enormous  head,  whose  vast 
forehead  proclaimed  a  precocious  intellect.  A  strained 
and  harassed  face,  too  original  to  be  ugh',  was  hol- 
lowed as  if  this  noticeable  young  man  suffered  from 
some  chronic  malady,  or  from  privations  caused  by 
poverty  (the  most  terrible  of  all  chronic  maladies),  or 
from  griefs  too  recent  to  be  forgotten.  His  clothing, 
analogous,  with  due  allowance,  to  that  of  Mistigris, 
consisted  of  a  shabby  surtout  coat,  American-green 
in  color,  much  worn,  but  clean  and  well-brushed  ;  a 
black  waistcoat  buttoned  to  the  throat,  which  almost 
concealed  a  scarlet  neckerchief;  and  trousers,  also 
black  and  even  more  worn  than  the  coat,  flapping  his 
thin  legs.  In  addition,  a  pair  of  very  muddy  boots 
indicated  that  he  had  come  on  foot  and  from  some 
distance  to  the  coach  office.  With  a  rapid  look  this 
artist  seized  the  whole  scene  of  the  Lion  d' Argent,  the 


64  A  Start  in  Life. 

stables,  the  courtyard,  the  various  lights  and  shades, 
and  the  details ;  then  he  looked  at  Mistigris,  whose 
satirical  glance  had  followed  his  own. 

44  Charming  !  "  said  Mistigris. 

"Yes,  very,"  replied  the  other. 

M  We  seem  to  have  got  here  too  early,"  pursued 
Mistigris.  "Couldn't  we  get  a  mouthful  somewhere? 
My  stomach,  like  Nature,  abhors  a  vacuum. " 

44  Have  we  time  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee?"  said  the 
artist,  in  a  gentle  voice,  to  Pierrotin. 

44  Yes,  but  don't  be  long,"  answered  the  latter. 

44  Good  ;  that  means  we  have  a  quarter  of  an  hour," 
remarked  Mistigris,  with  the  innate  genius  for  obser- 
vation of  the  Paris  rapin. 

The  pair  disappeared.  Nine  o'clock  was  striking  in 
the  hotel  kitchen.  Georges  thought  it  just  and  reason- 
able to  remonstrate  with  Pierrotin. 

44  Hey  !  my  friend  ;  when  a  man  is  blessed  with  such 
wheels  as  these  (striking  the  clumsy  tires  with  his 
cane)  he  ought  at  least  to  have  the  merit  of  punctual- 
ity. The  deuce !  one  does  n't  get  into  that  thing  for 
pleasure;  I  have  business  that  is  devilishly  pressing 
or  I  would  n't  trust  my  bones  to  it.  And  that  horse, 
which  you  call  Rougeot,  he  does  n't  look  likely  to  make 
up  for  lost  time." 

44  We  are  going  to  harness  Bichette  while  those  gen- 
tlemen take  their  coffee,"  replied  Pierrotin.     44  Go  and 


A  Start  in  Life.  65 

ask,  you,"  he  said  to  his  porter,  if  Pere  Leger  is  com- 
ing with  us  —  " 

44  Where  is  your  Pere  Leger?  "   asked  Georges. 

44  Over  the  way,  at  number  50.  He  couldn't  get 
a  place  in  the  Beaumont  diligence,"  said  Pierrotin,  still 
speaking  to  his  porter  and  apparently  making  no  an- 
swer to  his  customer ;  then  he  disappeared  himself  in 
search  of  Bichette. 

Georges,  after  shaking  hands  with  his  friend,  got 
into  the  coach,  handling  with  an  air  of  great  impor- 
tance a  portfolio  which  he  placed  beneath  the  cushion 
of  the  seat.  He  took  the  opposite  corner  to  that  of 
Oscar,  on  the  same  seat.     ' 

44  This  Pere  Leger  troubles  me,"  he  said. 

44  They  can't  take  away  our  places,"  replied  Oscar. 
" 1  have  number  one." 

44  And  I  number  two,"  said  Georges. 

Just  as  Pierrotin  reappeared,  having  harnessed 
Bichette,  the  porter  returned  with  a  stout  man  in  tow, 
whose  weight  could  not  have  been  less  than  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  at  the  very  least.  Pere  Leger 
belonged  to  the  species  of  farmer  which  has  a  square 
back,  a  protuberant  stomach,  a  powdered  pigtail,  and 
wears  a  little  coat  of  blue  linen.  His  white  gaiters, 
coming  above  the  knee,  were  fastened  round  the  ends 
of  his  velveteen  breeches  and  secured  by  silver  buckles. 
His  hob-nailed  shoes  weighed  two  pounds  each.     In 

5 


66  A  Start  in  Life. 

his  hand,  he  held  a  small  reddish  stick,  much  polished, 
with  a  large  knob,  which  was  fastened  round  his  wrist 
by  a  thong  of  leather. 

"  And  you  are  called  Pere  Leger?"  asked  Georges, 
ve^  seriously,  as  the  farmer  attempted  to  put  a  foot 
on  the  step. 

"  At  your  service,"  replied  the  farmer,  looking  in 
and  showing  a  face  like  that  of  Louis  XVIII.,  with  fat, 
rubicund  cheeks,  from  between  which  issued  a  nose 
that  in  any  other  face  would  have  seemed  enormous. 
His  smiling  eyes  were  sunken  in  rolls  of  fat.  "  Come, 
a  helping  hand,  my  lad ! "   he  said  to  Pierrotin. 

The  farmer  was  hoisted  in  by  the  united  efforts  of 
Pierrotin  and  the  porter,  to  cries  of,  "  Houp  la!  hi! 
ha  !   hoist !  "  uttered  by  Georges. 

"Oh!  I'm  not  going  far;  only  to  La  Cave,"  said 
the  farmer,  good-humoredly. 

In  France  everybody  takes  a  joke. 

"  Take  the  back  seat,"  said  Pierrotin,  "there'll  be 
six  of  you." 

"Where's  your  other  horse?"  demanded  Georges. 
"  Is  it  as  mythical  as  the  third  posthorse  ? " 

"  There  she  is,"  said  Pierrotin,  pointing  to  the  little 
mare,  who  was  coming  along  alone. 

"  He  calls  that  insect  a  horse  !  "  exclaimed  Georges. 

"  Oh !  she 's  good,  that  little  mare,"  said  the 
farmer,   who  by  this   time  was   seated.     "  Your  ser- 


A  Start  in  Life.  G7 

vant,  gentlemen.  Well,  Pierrotin,  how  soon  do  3-011 
rtwrt?" 

44 1  have  two  travellers  in  there  after  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee, "  replied  Pierrotin. 

The  hollow-cheeked  young  man  and  his  page  re- 
appeared. 

44  Come,  let 's  start !  "  was  the  general  cr}\ 

44  We  are  going  to  start,"  replied  Pierrotin.  44  Now, 
then,  make  ready,"  he  said  to  the  porter,  who  began 
thereupon  to  take  away  the  stones  which  stopped  the 
wheels. 

Pierrotin  took  Rougeot  by  the  bridle  and  gave  that 
guttural  cry,  "  Ket,  ket!"  to  tell  the  two  animals 
to  collect  their  energy ;  on  which,  though  evidently 
stiff,  the}-  pulled  the  coach  to  the  door  of  the  Lion 
d'Argent.  After  which  manoeuvre,  which  was  purely 
preparatory,  Pierrotin  gazed  up  the  rue  d'Enghien  and 
then  disappeared,  leaving  the  coach  in  charge  of  the 
porter. 

u  Ah  ca  !  is  he  subject  to  such  attacks,  —  that  mas- 
ter of  3'ours?"  said  Mistigris,  addressing  the  porter. 

44  He  has  gone  to  get  his  feed  from  the  stable,"  re- 
plied the  porter,  well  versed  in  all  the  usual  tricks  to 
keep  passengers  quiet. 

44  Well,  after  all,"  said  Mistigris,  44  4  art  is  long,  but 
life  is  shorts  '  —  to  Bichette." 

At  this  particular  epoch,  a  fancy  for  mutilating  or 


68  A  Start  in  Life. 

transposing  proverbs  reigned  in  the  studios.  It  was 
thought  a  triumph  to  find  changes  of  letters,  and  some- 
times of  words,  which  still  kept  the  semblance  of  the 
proverb  while  giving  it  a  fantastic  or  ridiculous 
meaning.1 

"Patience,  Mistigris !  "  said  his  master;  "  '  come 
wheel,  come  whoa.' " 

Pierrotin  here  returned,  bringing  with  him  the  Comte 
de  Serizy,  who  had  come  through  the  rue  de  l'fichi- 
quier,  and  with  whom  he  had  doubtless  had  a  short 
conversation. 

"  Pere  Leger,"  said  Pierrotin,  looking  into  the  coach, 
44  will  you  give  your  place  to  Monsieur  le  comte?  That 
will  balance  the  carriage  better." 

"  We  sha'n't  be  off  for  an  hour  if  you  go  on  this 
way,"  cried  Georges.  "  We  shall  have  to  take  down 
this  infernal  bar,  which  cost  such  trouble  to  put  up. 
Why  should  everybody  be  made  to  move  for  the  man 
who  comes  last?  We  all  have  a  right  to  the  places  we 
took.  What  place  has  monsieur  engaged?  Come,  find 
that  out !  Have  n't  you  a  wa}'-book,  a  register,  or 
something?  What  place  has  Monsieur  Lecomte  en- 
gaged?—  count  of  what,  I'd  like  to  know." 

u  Monsieur  le  comte,"  said  Pierrotin,  visibly  troubled, 
"lam  afraid  you  will  be  uncomfortable." 

1  It  is  plainly  impossible  to  translate  many  of  these  proverbs 
and  put  any  fun  or  meaning  into  them.  —  Tr. 


A  Start  in  Life.  60 

"Why  didn't  you  keep  better  count  of  us?"  said 
Mistigris.     "  4  Short  counts  make  good  ends.'  " 

44  Mistigris,  behave  yourself,"  said  his  master. 

Monsieur  de  Serizy  was  evidently  taken  by  all  the 
persons  in  the  coach  for  a  bourgeois  of  the  name  of 
Lecomte. 

44  Don't  disturb  any  one,"  he  said  to  Pierrotin.  "I 
will  sit  with  you  in  front." 

41  Come,  Mistigris,"  said  the  master  to  his  rapin, 
44  remember  the  respect  you  owe  to  age  ;  30U  don't 
know  how  shockingly  old  you  may  be  yourself  some 
day.  4  Travel  deforms  youth.'  Give  your  place  to 
monsieur." 

Mistigris  opened  the  leathern  curtaint  and  jumped 
out  with  the  agility  of  a  frog  leaping  into  the  water. 

44  You  must  n't  be  a  rabbit,  august  old  man,"  he  said 
to  the  count. 

44  Mistigris,  4  ars  est  celare  bonum,' "  said  his  master. 

44 1  thank  }rou  very  much,  monsieur,"  said  the  count 
to  Mistigris's  master,  next  to  whom  he  now  sat. 

The  minister  of  State  cast  a  sagacious  glance  round 
the  interior  of  the  coach,  which  greatly  affronted  both 
Oscar. and  Georges. 

44  When  persons  want  to  be  master  of  a  coach,  they 
should  engage  all  the  places/'  remarked  Georges. 

Certain  now  of  his  incognito,  the  Comte  de  Serizy 
made  no  reply  to  this  observation,  but  assumed  the  air 
of  a  good-natured  bourgeois. 


70  A  Start  in  Life. 

"  Suppose  you  were  late,  would  n't  you  be  glad  that 
the  coach  waited  for  you  ?  "  said  the  farmer  to  the  two 
young  men. 

Pierrotin  still  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  whip  in 
hand,  apparently  reluctant  to  mount  to  the  hard  seat 
where  Mistigris  was  fidgeting. 

"If  you  expect  some  one  else,  I  am  not  the  last," 
said  the  count. 

"  I  agree  to  that  reasoning,"  said  Mistigris. 

Georges  and  Oscar  began  to  laugh  impertinently. 

"The  old  fellow  doesn't  know  much,"  whispered 
Georges  to  Oscar,  who  was  delighted  at  this  apparent 
union  between  himself  and  the  object  of  his  envy. 

"  Parbleu  !  "  cried  Pierrotin,  "  I  should  n't  be  sorry 
for  two  more  passengers  " 

"I  haven't  paid;  I'll  get  out,"  said  Georges, 
alarmed. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for,  Pierrotin?"  asked  Pere 
Leger. 

Whereupon  Pierrotin  shouted  a  certain  "Hi!"  in 
which  Bichette  and  Rougeot  recognized  a  definitive 
resolution,  and  they  both  sprang  toward  the  rise  of  the 
faubourg  at  a  pace  which  was  soon  to  slacken. 

The  count  had  a  red  face,  of  a  burning  red  all  over, 
on  which  were  certain  inflamed  portions  which  his 
snow-white  hair  brought  out  into  full  relief.  To  any 
but  heedless  youths,  this  complexion  would  have  re- 


A  Start  in  Life.  71 

vealcd  a  constant  inflammation  of  the  blood,  produced 
by  incessant  labor.  These  blotches  and  pimples  so 
injured  the  naturally  noble  air  of  the  count  that  careful 
examination  was  needed  to  find  in  his  green-gray  eyes 
the  shrewdness  of  the  magistrate,  the  wisdom  of  a 
statesman,  and  the  knowledge  of  a  legislator.  His 
face  was  flat,  and  the  nose  seemed  to  have  been  de- 
pressed into  it.  The  hat  hid  the  grace  and  beauty  of 
his  forehead.  In  short,  there  was  enough  to  amuse 
those  thoughtless  youths  in  the  odd  contrasts  of  the 
silvery  hair,  the  burning  face,  and  the  thick,  tufted  eye- 
brows which  were  still  jet-black. 

The  count  wore  a  long  blue  overcoat,  buttoned  in 
military  fashion  to  the  throat,  a  white  cravat  around 
his  neck,  cotton  wool  in  his  ears,  and  a  shirt-collar 
high  enough  to  make  a  large  square  patch  of  white  on 
each  cheek.  His  black  trousers  covered  his  boots,  the 
toes  of  which  were  barely  seen.  He  wore  no  decora- 
tion in  his  button-hole,  and  doeskin  gloves  concealed 
his  hands.  Nothing  about  him  betrayed  to  the  eyes  of 
youth  a  peer  of  France,  and  one  of  the  most  useful 
statesmen  in  the  kingdom. 

Pere  Le'ger  had  never  seen  the  count,  who,  on  his 
side,  knew  the  former  only  by  name.  When  the  count, 
as  he  got  into  the  carriage,  cast  the  glance  about  him 
which  affronted  Georges  mid  Oscar,  lie  was,  in  reality, 
looking  for  the  head-clerk  of  his  notary  (in  case  he  had 


72  A  Start  in  Life. 

been  forced,  like  himself,  to  take  Pierrotin's  vehicle), 
intending  to  caution  him  instantly  about  his  own  in- 
cognito. But  feeling  reassured  by  the  appearance  of 
Oscar,  and  that  of  Pere  Leger,  and,  above  all,  by  the 
quasi-military  air,  the  waxed  moustache,  and  the  gen- 
eral look  of  an  adventurer  that  distinguished  Georges, 
he  concluded  that  his  note  had  reached  his  notary, 
Alexandre  Crottat,  in  time  to  prevent  the  departure  of 
the  clerk. 

"Pere  Leger,"  said  Pierrotin,  when  they  reached 
the  steep  hill  of  the  faubourg  Saint-Denis  by  the  rue 
de  la  Fid  elite,  "suppose  we  get  out,  hey?  " 

"I'll  get  out,  too,"  said  the  count,  hearing  Leger' s 
name. 

"Goodness!  if  this  is  how  we  are  going,  we  shall  do 
fourteen  miles  in  fifteen  days!  "  cried  Georges. 

"It  isn't  my  fault,"  said  Pierrotin,  "if  a  passenger 
wishes  to  get  out." 

"Ten  louis  for  you  if  you  keep  the  secret  of  my  being 
here  as  I  told  you  before,"  said  the  count  in  a  low 
voice,  taking  Pierrotin  by  the  arm. 

"Oh,  my  thousand  francs!  "  thought  Pierrotin  as  he 
winked  an  eye  at  Monsieur  de  Serizy,  which  meant, 
"Rely  on  me." 

Oscar  and  Georges  stayed  in  the  coach. 

"Look  here,  Pierrotin,  since  Pierrotin  you  are," 
cried  Georges,  when  the  passengers  were  once  more 


A  Start  in  Life.  73 

stowed  away  in  the  vehicle,  "if  you  don't  mean  to 
go  faster  than  this,  say  so!  I  '11  pay  my  fare  and  take 
a  post-horse  at  Saint-Denis,  for  I  have  important 
business  on  hand  which  can't  be  delayed." 

"Oh!  he'll  go  well  enough,"  said  Pere  Leger. 
"Besides,  the  distance  isn't  great." 

"I  am  never  more  than  half  an  hour  late,"  asserted 
Pierrotin. 

"Well,  you  are  not  wheeling  the  Pope  in  this  old 
barrow  of  yours,"  said  Georges,  "so,  get  on." 

"Perhaps  he's  afraid  of  shaking  monsieur,"  said 
Mistigris  looking  round  at  the  count.  "But  you 
shouldn't  have  preferences,  Pierrotin,  it  isn't  right." 

"Coucous  and  the  Charter  make  all  Frenchmen 
equals,"  said  Georges. 

"Oh!  be  easy,"  said  Pere  Leger;  "we  are  sure 
to  get  to  La  Chapelle  by  mid-day,"  —  La  Chapelle 
being  the  village  next  beyond  the  Barriere  of  Saint- 
Denis. 


74  A  Start  in  Life. 


IV. 

THE    GRANDSON    OF    THE    FAMOUS    CZERNI-GEORGES. 

Those  who  travel  in  public  conveyances  know  that 
the  persons  thus  united  by  chance  do  not  immediately 
have  anything  to  say  to  one  another;  unless  under 
special  circumstances,  conversation  rarely  begins  until 
they  have  gone  some  distance.  This  period  of  silence 
is  employed  as  much  in  mutual  examination  as  in  set- 
tling into  their  places.  Minds  need  to  get  their  equi- 
librium as  much  as  bodies.  When  each  person  thinks 
he  has  discovered  the  age,  profession,  and  character 
of  his  companions,  the  most  talkative  member  of  the 
company  begins,  and  the  conversation  gets  under  way 
with  all  the  more  vivacity  because  those  present  feel  a 
need  of  enlivening  the  journey  and  forgetting  its 
tedium. 

That  is  how  things  happen  in  French  stage-coaches. 
In  other  countries  customs  are  very  different.  Eng- 
lishmen pique  themselves  on  never  opening  their  lips; 
Germans  are  melancholy  in  a  vehicle;  Italians  too 
wary  to  talk ;  Spaniards  have  no  public  conveyances ; 
and  Russians  no  roads.  There  is  no  amusement  ex- 
cept   in    the    lumbering   diligences   of   France,    that 


A  Start  in  Life.  75 

gabbling  and  indiscreet  country,  where  every  one  is  in 
■  hurry  to  laugh  and  show  his  wit,  and  where  jest  and 
epigram  enliven  all  things,  even  the  poverty  of  the 
lower  classes  and  the  weightier  cares  of  the  solid  bour- 
geois. In  a  coach  there  is  no  police  to  check  tongues, 
and  legislative  assemblies  have  set  the  fashion  of  pub- 
lic discussion.  When  a  young  man  of  twenty-two,  like 
the  one  named  Georges,  is  clever  and  lively,  he  is 
much  tempted,  especially  under  circumstances  like  the 
present,  to  abuse  those  qualities. 

In  the  first  place,  Georges  had  soon  decided  that  he 
was  the  superior  human  being  of  the  party  there  assem- 
bled. He  saw  in  the  count  a  manufacturer  of  the 
second-class,  whom  he  took,  for  some  unknown  reason, 
to  be  a  chandler;  in  the  shabby  young  man  accom- 
panied by  Mistigris,  a  fellow  of  no  account;  in  Oscar 
a  ninny,  and  in  Pere  Leger,  the  fat  farmer,  an  excel- 
lent subject  to  hoax.  Having  thus  looked  over  the 
ground,  he  resolved  to  amuse  himself  at  the  expense 
of  such  companions. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  the  coucou 
went  down  the  hill  from  La  Chapelle  to  the  plain  of 
Saint-Denis,  "shall  I  pass  myself  off  for  Btienne  or 
B  ranger?  No,  these  idiots  don't  know  who  they  are. 
Carbonaro?  the  deuce!  I  might  get  myself  arrested. 
Suppose  I  say  I 'm  a  son  of  Marshal  Ney?  Pooh! 
what  could  I  tell  them?  —  about  the  .execution  of  my 


76  A  Start  in  Life. 

father?  It  would  n't  be  funny.  Better  be  a  disguised 
Russian  prince  and  make  them  swallow  a  lot  of  stuff 
about  the  Emperor  Alexander.  Or  I  might  be  Cou- 
sin, and  talk  philosophy;  oh,  couldn't  I  perplex  'em! 
But  no,  that  shabby  fellow  with  the  tousled  head  looks 
to  me  as  if  he  had  jogged  his  way  through  the 
Sorbonne.  What  a  pity!  I  can  mimic  an  English- 
man so  perfectly  I  might  have  pretended  to  be  Lord 
Byron,  travelling  incognito.  Sapristi!  I '11  command 
the  troops  of  Ali,  pacha  of  Janina!  M 

During  this  mental  monologue,  the  coucou  rolled 
through  clouds  of  dust  rising  on  either  side  of  it  from 
the  much  travelled  road. 

"What  dust!  "  cried  Mistigris. 

"Henry  IV.  is  dead!"  retorted  his  master.  "If 
you  'd  say  it  was  scented  with  vanilla  that  would  be 
emitting  a  new  opinion." 

"You  think  you  're  witty,"  replied  Mistigris. 
"Well,  it  is  like  vauilla  at  times." 

"In  the  Levant  —  "  said  Georges,  with  the  air  of 
beginning  a  story. 

"lJEx  Oriente  flux,'  "  remarked  Mistigris's  master, 
interrupting  the  speaker. 

"I  said  in  the  Levant,  from  which  I  have  just  re- 
turned," continued  Georges,  "the  dust  smells  very 
good;  but  here  it  smells  of  nothing,  except  in  some 
old  dust-barrel  like  this." 


A  Start  in  Life.  77 

"Has  monsieur  lately  returned  from  the  Levant?" 
said  Mistigris,  maliciously.  "He  is  n't  much  tanned 
by  the  sun.1' 

"Oh!  I  've  just  left  my  bed  after  an  illness  of  three 
months,  from  the  germ,  so  the  doctors  said,  of  sup- 
pressed plague." 

"Have  you  had  the  plague?"  cried  the  count,  with 
a  gesture  of  alarm.     "Pierrotin,  stop!  " 

"Go  on,  Pierrotin,"  said  Mistigris.  "Didn't  you 
hear  him  say  it  was  inward,  his  plague?"  added  the 
rapin^  talking  back  to  Monsieur  de  Serizy.  "It 
isn't  catching;  it  only  comes  out  in  conversation." 

"Mistigris!  if  you  interfere  again  I'll  have  you 
put  off  into  the  road,"  said  his  master.  "And  so," 
he  added,  turning  to  Georges,  "monsieur  has  been  to 
the  East?" 

"Yes,  monsieur;  first  to  Egypt,  then  to  Greece, 
where  I  served  under  Ali,  pacha  of  Janina,  with  whom 
I  had  a  terrible  quarrel.  There  's  no  enduring  those 
climates  long;  besides,  the  emotions  of  all  kinds  in 
Oriental  life  have  disorganized  my  liver." 

"What,  have  you  served  as  a  soldier?"  asked  the 
fat  farmer.     "How  old  are  you? " 

"Twenty-nine,"  replied  Georges,  whereupon  all  the 

passengers  looked  at  him.     "At  eighteen  I  enlisted  as 

R  private  for  the  famous  campaign  of  1813;  but  I  was 

lent  at  only  one  battle,  that  of  liana u,  where  I  was 


78  A  Start  in  Life. 

promoted  sergeant-major.  In  France,  at  Montoreau, 
I  won  the  rank  of  sub-lieutenant,  and  was  decorated 
by,  —  there  are  no  informers  here,  I  'm  sure,  —  by  the 
Emperor." 

"What!  are  you  decorated ?  "  cried  Oscar.  "Why 
don't  you  wear  your  cross?  " 

"The  cross  of  ceux-ci?  No,  thank  you!  Besides, 
what  man  of  any  breeding  would  wear  his  decorations 
in  travelling?  There's  monsieur,"  he  said,  motion- 
ing to  the  Comte  de  Serizy.  "I  '11  bet  whatever  you 
like  —  " 

"Betting  whatever  you  like  means,  in  France,  bet- 
ting nothing  at  all,"  said  Mistigris's  master. 

"I  '11  bet  whatever  you  like,"  repeated  Georges,  in- 
cisively, "that  monsieur  here  is  covered  with  stars." 

"Well,"  said  the  count,  laughing,  "I  have  the 
grand  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor,  that  of  Saint 
Andrew  of  Russia,  that  of  the  Prussian  Eagle,  that  of 
the  Annunciation  of  Sardinia,  and  the  Golden  Fleece." 

"Beg  pardon,"  said  Mistigris,  "are  they  all  in  the 
coucou  ?  " 

"Hey!  that  brick-colored  old  fellow  goes  it  strong!  " 
whispered  Georges  to  Oscar.  "What  was  I  saying? 
—  oh!  I  know.  I  don't  deny  that  I  adore  the  Em- 
peror —  " 

"I  served  under  him,"  said  the  count. 

"What  a  man  he  was,  wasn't  he?  "  cried  Georges. 


A  Start  in  life.  79 

"A  man  to  whom  I  owe  many  obligations,"  replied 
the  count,  with  a  silly  expression  that  was  admirably . 
assumed. 

"For  all  those  crosses?"  inquired  Mistigris. 

"And  what  quantities  of  snuff  he  took!  "  continued 
Monsieur  de  Serizy. 

"He  carried  it  loose  in  his  pockets,"  said  Georges. 

"So  I've  been  told,"  remarked  Pere  Leger  with  an 
incredulous  look. 

"Worse  than  that;  he  chewed  and  smoked,"  con- 
tinued Georges.  "I  saw  him  smoking,  in  a  queer 
way,  too,  at  Waterloo,  when  Marshal  Soult  took  him 
round  the  waist  and  flung  him  into  his  carriage,  just 
as  he  had  seized  a  musket  and  was  going  to  charge  the 
English  —  " 

"You  were  at  Waterloo!"  cried  Oscar,  his  eyes 
stretching  wide  open. 

"Yes,  young  man,  I  did  the  campaign  of  1815.  I 
was  a  captain  at  Mont-Saint-Jean,  and  I  retired  to  the 
Loire,  after  we  were  all  disbanded.  Faith!  I  was 
disgusted  with  France;  I  couldn't  stand  it.  In  fact, 
I  should  certainly  have  got  myself  arrested;  so  off  I 
went,  with  two  or  three  dashing  fellows,  —  Selves, 
Besson,  and  others,  who  are  now  in  Egypt,  —  and  we 
entered  the  service  of  pacha  Mohammed;  a  queer 
sort  of  fellow  he  was,  too!  Once  a  tobacco  merchant 
in  the  bazaars,    he   is   mow  on   the  high-road  to  be  a 


80  A  Start  in  Life. 

sovereign  prince.  You  've  all  seen  him  in  that  picture 
by  Horace  Vernet,  — '  The  Massacre  of  the  Mame- 
luks.'  What  a  handsome  fellow  he  was!  But  I 
would  n't  give  up  the  religion  of  my  fathers  and  em- 
brace Islamism;  all  the  more  because  the  abjuration 
required  a  surgical  operation  which  I  had  n't  any  fancy 
for.  Besides,  nobody  respects  a  renegade.  Now  if 
they  had  offered  me  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year, 
perhaps  —  and  yet,  no !  The  pacha  did  give  me  a 
thousand  talari  as  a  present." 

"How  much  is  that?"  asked  Oscar,  who  was  listen- 
ing to  Georges  with  all  his  ears. 

"Oh!  not  much.  A  talaro  is,  as  you  might  say,  a 
five-franc  piece.  But  faith!  I  got  no  compensation 
for  the  vices  I  contracted  in  that  God-forsaken  coun- 
try, if  country  it  is.  I  can't  live  now  without  smoking 
a  narghile  twice  a-day,  and  that's  very  costly." 

"How  did  you  find  Egypt?  "  asked  the  count- 

"Egypt?  Oh!  Eg'3'pt  is  all  sand,"  replied  Georges, 
by  no  means  taken  aback.  "There's  nothing  green 
but  the  valley  of  the  Nile.  Draw  a  green  line  down  a 
sheet  of  yellow  paper,  and  you  have  Egypt.  But  those 
Egyptians  —  fellahs  they  are  called  —  have  an  im- 
mense advantage  over  us.  There  are  no  gendarmes 
in  that  country.  You  may  go  from  end  to  end  of 
Egypt  and  you  won't  see  one." 

"But  I  suppose  there  are  a  good  many  Egyptians," 
said  Mistioris. 


A  Start  in  Life.  81 

"Not  as  many  as  you  think  for,"  replied  Georges. 
"There  are  many  more  Abyssinians,  and  Giaours, 
and  Veehabitcs,  Bedouins,  and  Cophs.  But  all  that 
kind  of  animal  is  very  uninteresting,  and  I  was  glad 
enough  to  embark  on  a  Genoese  polacca  which  was 
loading  for  the  Ionian  Islands  with  gunpowder  and 
munitions  for  Ali  de  Tebelen.  You  know,  don't  you, 
that  the  British  sell  powder  and  munitions  of  war  to 
all  the  world,  —  Turks,  Greeks,  and  the  devil,  too,  if 
the  devil  has  money?  From  Zante  we  were  to  skirt 
the  coasts  of  Greece  and  tack  about,  on  and  off.  Now 
it  happens  that  my  name  of  Georges  is  famous  in  that 
country.  I  am,  such  as  you  see  me,  the  grandson  of 
the  famous  Czerni-Georges  who  made  war  upon  the 
Porte,  and,  instead  of  crushing  it,  as  he  meant  to  do, 
got  crushed  himself.  His  son  took  refuge  in  the  house 
of  the  French  consul  at  Smyrna,  and  he  afterwards 
died  in  Paris,  leaving  my  mother  pregnant  with  me, 
his  seventh  child.  Our  property  was  all  stolen  by 
friends  of  my  grandfather;  in  fact,  we  were  ruined. 
My  mother,  who  lived  on  her  diamonds,  which  she 
sold  one  by  one,  married,  in  1799,  my  step-father,  Mon- 
sieur Yung,  a  purveyor.  But  my  mother  is  dead,  and 
I  have  quarrelled  with  my  step-father,  who,  between 
ourselves,  is  a  blackguard;  he  is  still  alive,  but  I 
never  see  him.  That's  why,  in  despair,  left  all  to 
myself,   I  went  off  to  the  wars  as  a  private  in  1813. 


82  A  Start  in  Life. 

Well,  to  go  back  to  the  time  I  returned  to  Greece ;  you 
would  n't  believe  with  what  joy  old  Ali  Tebelen  re- 
ceived the  grandson  of  Czerni-Georges.  Here,  of 
course,  I  call  myself  simply  Georges.  The  pacha  gave 
me  a  harem  —  " 

"You  have  had  a  harem?"  said  Oscar. 

"Were  you  a  pacha  with  many  tails?"  asked  Mis- 
tigris. 

"How  is  it  that  you  don't  know,"  replied  Georges, 
"that  only  the  Sultan  makes  pachas,  and  that  my  friend 
Tebelen  (for  we  were  as  friendly  as  Bourbons)  was 
in  rebellion  against  the  Padishah!  You  know,  or  you 
don't  know,  that  the  true  title  of  the  Grand  Seignior 
is  Padishah,  and  not  Sultan  or  Grand  Turk.  You 
needn't  think  that  a  harem  is  much  of  a  thing;  you 
might  as  well  have  a  herd  of  goats.  The  women  are 
horribly  stupid  down  there ;  I  much  prefer  the  grisettes 
of  the  Chaumieres  at  Mont-Parnasse." 

"They  are  nearer,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  count. 

"The  women  of  the  harem  could  n't  speak  a  word  of 
French,  and  that  language  is  indispensable  for  talk- 
ing. Ali  gave  me  five  legitimate  wives  and  ten  slaves; 
that 's  equivalent  to  having  none  at  all  at  Janina. 
In  the  East,  you  must  know,  it  is  thought  very  bad 
style  to  have  wives  and  women.  They  have  them, 
just  as  we  have  Voltaire  and  Rousseau;  but  who  ever 
opens  his  Voltaire  or  his  Rousseau?     Nobody.     But, 


A  Start  in  Life.  83 

for  all  that,  the  highest  style  is  to  be  jealous.  They 
sew  a  woman  up  in  a  sack  and  fliug  her  into  the  water 
on  the  slightest  suspicion,  —  that 's  according  to  their 
Code." 

"Did  you  fling  any  in?  "  asked  the  farmer. 

"I,  a  Frenchman!  for  shame!     I  loved  them." 

Whereupon  Georges  twirled  and  twisted  his  mous- 
tache with  a  dreamy  air. 

They  were  now  entering  Saint-Denis,  and  Pierrotin 
presently  drew  up  before  the  door  of  a  tavern  where 
were  sold  the  famous  cheese-cakes  of  that  place.  All 
the  travellers  got  out.  Puzzled  by  the  apparent  truth 
mingled  with  Georges'  inventions,  the  count  returned 
to  the  coucou  when  the  others  had  entered  the  house, 
and  looked  beneath  the  cushion  for  the  portfolio  which 
Pierrotin  told  him  that  enigmatical  youth  had  placed 
there.  On  it  he  read  the  words  in  gilt  letters:  "Maitre 
Crottat,  notary."  The  count  at  once  opened  it,  and 
fearing,  with  some  reason,  that  Pere  Leger  might  be 
seized  with  the  same  curiosity,  he  took  out  the  deed  of 
sale  for  the  farm  at  Moulineaux,  put  it  into  his  coat 
pocket,  and  entered  the  inn  to  keep  an  eye  on  the 
travellers. 

"This  Georges  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  Crottat' s 
second  clerk,"  thought  he.  "I  shall  pay  my  compli- 
ments to  his  master,  whose  business  it  was  to  send  me 
his  head-clerk." 


84  A  Start  in  Life. 

From  the  respectful  glances  of  Pere  Leger  and 
Oscar,  Georges  perceived  that  he  had  made  for  him- 
self two  fervent  admirers.  Accordingly,  he  now  posed 
as  a  great  personage;  paid  for  their  cheese-cakes,  and 
ordered  for  each  a  glass  of  Alicante.  He  offered  the 
same  to  Mistigris  and  his  master,  who  refused  with 
smiles ;  but  the  friend  of  Ali  Tebelen  profited  by  the 
occasion  to  ask  the  pair  their  names. 

"Oh!  monsieur,"  said  Mistigris'  master,  "I  am 
not  blessed,  like  you,  with  an  illustrious  name;  and  T 
have  not  returned  from  Asia  —  " 

At  this  moment  the  count,  hastening  into  the  huge 
inn-kitchen  lest  his  absence  should  excite  inquiry, 
entered  the  place  in  time  to  hear  the  conclusion  of 
the  young  man's  speech. 

"  —  I  am  only  a  poor  painter  lately  returned  from 
Rome,  where  I  went  at  the  cost  of  the  government, 
after  winning  the  "grand  prix  "  five  years  ago.  My 
name  is  Schinner." 

"Hey!  bourgeois,  may  I  offer  you  a  glass  of  Ali- 
cante and  some  cheese-cakes?"  said  Georges  to  the 
count. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  latter.  "I  never  leave 
home  without  taking  my  cup  of  coffee  and  cream." 

"Don't  you  eat  anything  between  meals?  How 
bourgeois,  Marais,  Place  Royale,  that  is !  "  cried 
Georges.     "When   he    blagued   just   now   about    his 


A  Start  in  Life.  85 

crosses,  I  thought  there  was  something  in  him,"  whis- 
pered the  Eastern  hero  to  the  painter.  "However, 
we  '11  set  him  going  on  his  decorations,  the  old  tallow- 
chandler!  Come,  my  lad,"  he  added,  calling  to  Oscar, 
"drink  me  down  the  glass  poured  out  for  the  chandler; 
that  will  start  your  moustache." 

Oscar,  anxious  to  play  the  man,  swallowed  the  sec- 
ond glass  of  wine,  and  ate  three  more  cheese-cakes. 

"Good  wine,  that!  "  said  Pere  Leger,  smacking  his 
lips. 

"It  is  all  the  better,"  said  Georges,  "because  it 
comes  from  Bercy.  I  've  been  to  Alicante  myself,  and 
I  know  that  this  wine  no  more  resembles  what  is  made 
there  than  my  arm  is  like  a  windmill.  Our  made-up 
wines  are  a  great  deal  better  than  the  natural  ones  in 
their  own  country.  Come,  Pierrotin,  take  a  glass! 
It  is  a  great  pity  your  horses  can't  take  one,  too;  we 
might  go  faster." 

"Forward,  march!"  cried  Pierrotin,  amid  a  mighty 
clacking  of  whips,  after  the  travellers  were  again 
boxed  up. 

It  was  now  eleven  o'clock.  The  weather,  which 
had  been  cloudy,  cleared;  the  breeze  swept  off  the 
mists,  and  the  blue  of  the  sky  appeared  in  spots; 
so  that  when  the  coucon  trundled  along  the  narrow 
strip  of  load  from  Saint-Denis  to  Pierrefitte,  the  sun 
had   fairly  drunk  up  the  last  floating  vapors  of  the 


86  A  Start  in  Life. 

diaphanous  veil  which  swathed  the  scenery  of-  that 
famous  region. 

"Well,  now,  tell  us  why  you  left  your  friend  the 
pacha,"  said  Pere  Leger,  addressing  Georges. 

"He  was  a  very  singular  scamp,"  replied  Georges, 
with  an  air  that  hid  a  multitude  of  mysteries.  "He 
put  me  in  command  of  his  cavalry,  —  so  far,  so 
good  —  M 

"Ah!  that's  why  he  wears  spill's,"  thought  poor 
Oscar. 

"At  that  time  AH  Tebelen  wanted  to  rid  himself  of 
Chosrew  pacha,  another  queer  chap!  You  call  him, 
here,  Chaureff;  but  the  name  is  pronounced,  in  Turk- 
ish, Cosserew.  You  must  have  read  in  the  newspapers 
how  old  Ali  drubbed  Chosrew,  and  soundly,  too, 
faith!  Well,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  Ali  Tebelen 
himself  would  have  bit  the  dust  two  days  earlier.  I 
was  at  the  right  wing,  and  I  saw  Chosrew,  an  old  sly- 
boots, thinking  to  force  our  centre,  —  ranks  closed, 
stiff,  swift,  fine  movement  a  la  Murat.  Good!  I  take 
my  time;  then  I  charge,  double-quick;  and  cut  his  line 
in  two,  —  you  understand  ?  Ha !  ha !  after  the  affair 
was  over,  Ali  kissed  me  —  " 

"Do  they  do  that  in  the  East?"  asked  the  count,  in 
a  joking  way. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  the  painter,  "that's  done  all 
the  world  over." 


A  Start  in  Life.  87 

"After  that,"  continued  Georges,  "Ali  gave  me 
yataghans,  and  carbines,  and  scimetars,  and  what-not. 
But  when  we  got  back  to  his  capital  he  made  me  prop- 
ositions, wanted  me  to  drown  a  wife,  and  make  a 
slave  of  myself, — Orientals  are  so  queer!  But  I 
thought  I  'd  had  enough  of  it ;  for,  after  all,  you  know, 
AH  Tebelen  was  a  rebel  against  the  Porte.  So  I  con- 
cluded I  had  better  get  off  while  I  could.  But  I  '11  do 
Monsieur  Tebelen  the  justice  to  say  that  he  loaded  me 
with  presents,  —  diamonds,  ten  thousand  talari,  one 
thousand  gold  coins,  a  beautiful  Greek  girl  for  groom, 
a  little  Circassian  for  a  mistress,  and  an  Arab  horse! 
Yes,  Ali  Tebelen,  pacha  of  Janina,  is  too  little  known; 
he  needs  an  historian.  It  is  only  in  the  East  one 
meets  with  such  iron  souls,  who  can  nurse  a  vengeance 
twenty  years  and  accomplish  it  some  line  morning. 
He  had  the  most  magnificent  white  beard  that  was  ever 
seen,  and  a  hard,  stern  face  —  " 

"But  what  did  you  do  with  your  treasures?"  asked 
farmer  Leger. 

"Ha!  that's  it!  you  may  well  ask  that!  Those 
fellows  down  there  have  n't  any  Grand  Livre  nor  any 
Bank  of  France.  So  I  was  forced  to  carry  off  my 
windfalls  in  a  felucca,  which  was  captured  by  the 
Turkish  High-Admiral  himself.  Such  as  you  see  me 
here  to-day,  I  came  very  near  being  impaled  at 
Smyrna.     Indeed,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Monsieur  de 


88  A  Start  in  Life. 

Riviere,  our  ambassador,  who  was  there,  they  'd  have 
taken  me  for  an  accomplice  of  Ali  pacha.  I  saved  my 
head,  but,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  all  the  rest,  the  ten 
thousand  talari,  the  thousand  gold  pieces,  and  the  fine 
weapons,  were  all,  yes  all,  drunk  up  by  the  thirsty 
treasury  of  the  Turkish  admiral.  My  position  was 
the  more  perilous  because  that  very  admiral  chanced 
to  be  Chosrew  pacha.  After  I  routed  him,  the  fellow 
had  managed  to  obtain  a  position  which  is  equal  to 
that  of  our  Admiral  of  the  Fleet  —  " 

uBut  I  thought  he  was  in  the  cavalry?"  said  Pere 
Leger,  who  had  followed  the  narrative  with  the  deepest 
attention. 

"Dear  me!  how  little  the  East  is  understood  in  the 
French  provinces!"  cried  Georges.  "Monsieur,  I'll 
explain  the  Turks  to  you.  You  are  a  farmer;  the 
Padishah  (that's  the  Sultan)  makes  you  a  marshal; 
if  you  don't  fulfil  your  functions  to  his  satisfaction, 
so  much  the  worse  for  you,  he  cuts  your  head  off; 
that 's  his  way  of  dismissing  his  functionaries.  A 
gardener  is  made  a  prefect;  and  the  prime  minister 
comes  down  to  be  a  foot-boy.  The  Ottomans  have 
no  system  of  promotion  and  no  hierarchy.  From  a 
cavalry  officer  Chosrew  simply  became  a  naval  officer. 
Sultan  Mahmoud  ordered  him  to  capture  Ali  by  sea; 
and  he  did  get  hold  of  him,  assisted  by  those  beggarly 
English  —  who  put  their  paw  on  most  of  the  treasure. 


A  Start  in  Life.  89 

This  Chosrew,  who  had  not  forgotten  the  riding-lesson 
I  gave  him,  recognized  me.  You  understand,  my 
goose  was  cooked,  oh,  brown!  when  it  suddenly  came 
into  my  head  to  claim  protection  as  a  Frenchman  and 
a  troubadour  from  Monsieur  de  Riviere.  The  ambas- 
sador, enchanted  to  find  something  to  show  him  off, 
demanded  that  I  should  be  set  at  liberty.  The  Turks 
have  one  good  trait  in  their  nature;  they  are  as  wil- 
ling to  let  you  go  as  they  are  to  cut  your  head  off;  they 
are  indifferent  to  everything.  The  French  consul, 
charming  fellow,  friend  of  Chosrew,  made  him  give 
back  two  thousand  of  the  talari,  and,  consequently, 
his  name  is,  as  I  may  say,  graven  on  my  heart  —  " 

44 What  was  his  name?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Seriz}7; 
and  a  look  of  some  surprise  passed  over  his  face  as 
Georges  named,  correctly,  one  of  our  most  distin- 
guished consul-generals  who  happened  at  that  time  to 
be  stationed  at  Smyrna. 

"I  assisted,"  added  Georges,  "at  the  execution  of 
the  Governor  of  Smyrna,  whom  the  Sultan  had  ordered 
Chosrew  to  put  to  death.  It  was  one  of  the  most  curi- 
ous things  I  ever  saw,  though  I  've  seen  many,  —  I  '11 
tell  you  about  it  when  we  stop  for  breakfast.  From 
Smyrna  I  crossed  to  Spain,  bearing  there  was  a  revo- 
lution there.  I  went  straight  to  Mina,  who  appointed 
me  as  his  aide-de-camp  with  the  rank  of  colonel.  I 
fought  for   the  constitutional  cause,  which   will  cer- 


90  A  Start  in  Life 

tainly  be  defeated  when  we  enter  Spain  —  as  we  un- 
doubtedly shall,  some  of  these  days  —  " 

"You,  a  French  soldier!  "  said  the  count,  sternly. 
"You  show  extraordinary  confidence  in  the  discretion 
of  those  who  are  listening  to  you." 

"But  there  are  no  spies  here,"  said  Georges. 

"Are  you  aware,  Colonel  Georges,"  continued  the 
count,  "that  the  Court  of  Peers  is  at  this  very  time  in- 
quiring into  a  conspiracy  which  has  made  the  govern- 
ment extremely  severe  in  its  treatment  of  French  sol- 
diers who  bear  arms  against  France,  and  who  deal  in 
foreign  intrigues  for  the  purpose  of  overthrowing  our 
legitimate  sovereigns." 

On  hearing  this  stern  admonition  the  painter  turned 
red  to  his  ears  and  looked  at  Mistigris,  who  seemed 
dumfounded. 

"Well?"  said  Pere  Leger,  "what  next?" 

"If,"  continued  the  count,  "I  were  a  magistrate,  it 
would  be  my  duty  to  order  the  gendarmes  at  Pierrefitte 
to  arrest  the  aide-de-camp  of  Mina,  and  to  summon  all 
present  in  this  vehicle  to  testify  to  his  words." 

This  speech  stopped  Georges'  narrative  all  the  more 
surely,  because  at  this  moment  the  coucou  reached  the 
guard-house  of  a  brigade  of  gendarmerie,  —  the  white 
flag  floating,  as  the  orthodox  saying  is,  upon  the  breeze. 

"You  have  too  many  decorations  to  do  such  a  das- 
tardly thing,"  said  Oscar. 


A  Start  in  Life.  91 

"Never  mind;  we'll  catch  up  with  him  soon/* 
whispered  Georges  in  the  lad's  ear. 

" Colonel,"  cried  Leger,  who  was  a  good  deal  dis- 
turbed by  the  count's  outburst,  and  wanted  to  change 
the  conversation,  "in  all  these  countries  where  you 
have  been,  what  sort  of  farming  do  they  do?  How  do 
they  vary  the  crops  ?  " 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  my  good  fellow,  you  must 
understand,  they  are  too  busy  cropping  off  each  others' 
heads  to  think  much  of  cropping  the  ground." 

The  count  couldn't  help  smiling;  and  that  smile 
reassured  the  narrator. 

"They  have  a  way  of  cultivating  which  you  will  think 
very  queer.  They  don't  cultivate  at  all;  that's  their 
style  of  farming.  The  Turks  and  the  Greeks,  they 
eat  onions  or  rice.  They  get  opium  from  poppies, 
and  it  gives  them  a  fine  revenue.  Then  they  have 
tobacco,  which  grows  of  itself,  famous  latakiah!  and 
dates!  and  all  kinds  of  sweet  things  that  don't  need 
cultivation.  It  is  a  country  full  of  resources  and  com- 
merce. They  make  fine  rugs  at  Smyrna,  and  not 
dear." 

"But,"  persisted  Leger,  "if  the  rugs  are  made  of 
wool  they  must  come  from  sheep;  and  to  have  sheep 
you  must  have  fields,  farms,  culture  —  " 

"Well,  there  may  be  something  of  that  sort,"  replied 
Georges.     "But  their  chief  crop,  rice,  grows  in  the 


92  A  Start  in  Life. 

water.  As  for  me,  I  have  only  been  along  the  coasts 
and  seen  the  parts  that  are  devastated  by  war.  Be- 
sides, I  have  the  deepest  aversion  to  statistics." 

"How  about  the  taxes?  "  asked  the  farmer. 

"Oh!  the  taxes  are  heavy;  they  take  all  a  man  has, 
and  leave  him  the  rest.  The  pacha  of  Egypt  was  so 
struck  with  the  advantages  of  that  system,  that,  when 
I  came  away  he  was  on  the  point  of  organizing  his  own 
administration  on  that  footing  —  " 

"But,"  said  Leger,  who  no  longer  understood  a 
single  word,  "how?  " 

"How?"  said  Georges.  "Why,  agents  go  round 
and  take  all  the  harvests,  and  leave  the  fellahs  just 
enough  to  live  on.  That 's  a  system  that  does  away 
with  stamped  papers  and  bureaucracy,  the  curse  of 
France,  hein?" 

"By  virtue  of  what  right?  "  said  L6ger. 

"Right?  why  it  is  a  land  of  despotism.  They 
have  n't  any  rights.  Don't  you  know  the  fine  defini- 
tion Montesquieu  gives  of  despotism.  l  Like  the 
savage,  it  cuts  down  the  tree  to  gather  the  fruits.' 
They  don't  tax,  they  take  everything."  - 

"And  that's  what  our  rulers  are  trying  to  bring 
us  to.  '  Tax  vobiscum,'  —  no,  thank  you!  "  said 
Mistigris. 

"But  that  is  what  we  are  coming  to,"  said  the 
count.     "Therefore,  those  who  own  land  will  do  well 


A  Start  in  Life.  93 

to  sell  it.  Monsieur  Schinner  must  have  seen  how 
things  are  tending  in  Italy,  where  the  taxes  are 
enormous." 

44  Covjjo  dl  Bacco  !  the  Pope  is  laying  it  on  heavily," 
replied  Schinner.  "But  the  people  are  used  to  it. 
Besides,  Italians  are  so  good-natured  that  if  you  let 
'em  murder  a  few  travellers  along  the  highways 
they're  contented." 

"I  see,  Monsieur  Schinner,"  said  the  count,  uthat 
you  are  not  wearing  the  decoration  you  obtained  in 
1819;  it  seems  the  fashion  nowadays  not  to  wear 
orders." 

Mistigris  and  the  pretended  Schinner  blushed  to  their 
ears. 

"Well,  with  me,"  said  the  artist,  "the  case  is  differ- 
ent. It  is  n't  on  account  of  fashion;  but  I  don't  want 
to  be  recognized.  Have  the  goodness  not  to  betray 
me,  monsieur;  I  am  supposed  to  be  a  little  painter  of 
no  consequence,  —  a  mere  decorator.  I  'm  on  my  way 
to  a  chateau  where  I  mustn't  rou3e  the  slightest 
suspicion." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  said  the  count,  "some  intrigue, — a 
love  affair !     Youth  is  happy !  " 

Oscar,  who  was  writhing  in  his  skin  at  being  a 
nobody  and  having  nothing  to  say,  gazed  at  Colonel 
Czemi-Georges  and  at  the  famous  painter  Schinner, 
and  wondered  how   he  could  transform   himself   into 


94  A  Start  in  Life. 

somebody.  But  a  youth  of  nineteen,  kept  at  home  all 
his  life,  and  going  for  two  weeks  only  into  the  country, 
what  could  he  be,  or  do,  or  say?  However,  the  Ali- 
cante had  got  into  his  head,  and  his  vanity  was  boil- 
ing in  his  veins:  so  when  the  famous  Schinner  allowed 
a  romantic  adventure  to  be  guessed  at  in  which  the 
danger  seemed  as  great  as  the  pleasure,  he  fastened  his 
eyes,  sparkling  with  wrath  and  envy,  upon  that  hero. 

"Yes,"  said  the  count,  with  a  credulous  air,  "a  man 
must  love  a  woman  well  to  make  such  sacrifices." 

"What  sacrifices?"  demanded  Mistigris. 

"Don't  you  know,  my  little  friend,  that  a  ceiling 
painted  by  so  great  a  master  as  yours  is  worth  its 
weight  in  gold?"  replied  the  count.  "If  the  civil 
list  paid  you,  as  it  did,  thirty  thousand  francs  for  each 
of  those  rooms  in  the  Louvre,"  he  continued,  address- 
ing Schinner,  "a  bourgeois  —  as  you  call  us  in  your 
studios  —  ought  certainly  to  pay  you  twenty  thousand. 
Whereas,  if  you  go  to  this  chateau  as  a  humble  deco- 
rator, you  will  not  get  two  thousand." 

"The  money  is  not  the  greatest  loss,"  said  Mistigris. 
"The  work  is  sure  to  be  a  masterpiece,  but  he  can't 
sign  it,  you  know,  for  fear  of  compromising  her*" 

"Ah!  I  'd  return  all  my  crosses  to  the  sovereigns 
who  gave  them  to  me  for  the  devotion  that  youth  can 
win,"  said  the  count. 

"That's   just   it!"    said   Mistigris,  "when   one's 


A  Start  in  Life.  95 

young,  one  'b  loved ;  plenty  of  love,  plenty  of  women ;  but 
they  do  say:     4  Where  there  's  wife,  there  's  mope.'  " 

"What  does  Madame  Schinner  say  to  all  this?" 
pursued  the  count;  "for  I  believe  you  married,  out  of 
love,  the  beautiful  Adelaide  de  Rouville,  the  protegee 
of  old  Admiral  de  Kergarouet;  who,  by  the  bye,  ob- 
tained for  you  the  order  for  the  Louvre  ceilings  through 
his  nephew,  the  Comte  de  Fontaine." 

44 A  great  painter  is  never  married  when  he  travels," 
said  Mistigris. 

44 So  that  's  the  morality  of  studios,  is  it?  "  cried  the 
count,  with  an  air  of  great  simplicity. 

44 Is  the  morality  of  courts  where  you  got  those 
decorations  of  yours  any  better?"  said  Schinner,  re- 
covering his  self-possession,  upset  for  the  moment  by 
finding  how  much  the  count  knew  of  Schinner's  life 
as  an  artist. 

44 1  never  asked  for  any  of  my  orders,"  said  the 
count.     44I  believe  I  have  loyally  earned  them." 

44  4  A  fair  yield  and  no  flavour,'  "  said  Mistigris. 

The  count  was  resolved  not  to  betray  himself;  he 
assumed  an  air  of  good-humored  interest  in  the  coun- 
try, and  looked  up  the  valley  of  Groslay  as  the  coucou 
took  the  road  to  Saint-Brice,  leaving  that  to  Chantilly 
on  the.  right. 

44Is  Rome  as  fine  as  they  say  it  is?"  said  Georges, 
addressing  the  great  painter. 


96  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Rome  is  fine  only  to  those  who  love  it;  a  man  must 
have  a  passion  for  it  to  enjoy  it.  As  a  city,  I  prefer 
Venice,  —  though  I  just  missed  being  murdered  there." 

"Faith,  yes!"  cried  Mistigris;  "if  it  had  n't  been 
for  me  you  'd  have  been  gobbled  up.  It  was  that 
mischief-making  tom-fool,  Lord  Byron,  who  got  you 
into  the  scrape.  Oh!  wasn't  he  raging,  that  buffoon 
of  an  Englishman  ?  " 

"Hush!"  said  Schinner.  "I  don't  want  my  affair 
with  Lord  Byron  talked  about." 

"But  you  must  own,  all  the  same,  that  you  were  glad 
enough  I  knew  how  to  box,"  said  Mistigris. 

From  time  to  time,  Pierrotin  exchanged  sly  glances 
with  the  count,  which  might  have  made  less  inexperi- 
enced persons  than  the  five  other  travellers  uneasy. 

"Lords,  pachas,  and  thirty- thousand-franc  ceil- 
ings! "  he  cried.  "I  seem  to  be  driving  sovereigns. 
What pourboires  I  '11  get!  " 

"And  all  the  places  paid  for!"  said  Mistigris, 
slyly. 

"It  is  a  lucky  day  for  me,"  continued  Pierrotin; 
"for  you  know,  Pere  Leger,  about  my  beautiful  new 
coach  on  which  I  have  paid  an  advance  of  two  thou- 
sand francs?  Well,  those  dogs  of  carriage-builders, 
to  whom  I  have  to  pay  two  thousand  five  hundred 
francs  more,  won't  take  fifteen  hundred  down,  and  my 
note  for  a  thousand  for  two  months !     Those  vultures 


A  Start  in  Life.  97 

want  it  jill.  Who  ever  heard  of  being  so  stiff  with  a 
man  in  business  these  eight  years,  and  the  father  of  a 
family?  —  making  me  run  the  risk  of  losing  every- 
thing, carriage  and  money  too,  if  I  can't  find  before 
to-morrow  night  that  miserable  last  thousand!  Hue, 
Bichette!  They  would  n't  play  that  trick  on  the  great 
coach  offices,  I  '11  warrant  you." 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  said  the  rapin;  "  4  your  money  or 
your  strife. ' " 

"Well,  you  have  only  eight  hundred  now  to  get," 
remarked  the  count,  who  considered  this  moan,  ad- 
dressed to  Pere  Leger,  a  sort  of  letter  of  credit  drawn 
upon  himself. 

"True,"  said  Pierrotin.     "Xi!  xi!  Rougeot!" 

"You  must  have  seen  many  fine  ceilings  in  Venice," 
resumed  the  count,  addressing  Schinner. 

"I  was  too  much  in  love  to  take  any  notice  of  what 
seemed  to  me  then  mere  trifles,"  replied  Schinner. 
"But  I  was  soon  cured  of  that  folly,  for  it  was  in  the 
Venetian  states  —  in  Dalmatia  —  that  I  received  a  cruel 
lesson." 

"Can  it  be  told?"  asked  Georges.  "I  know  Dal- 
matia very  well." 

"Well,  if  you  have  been  there,  you  know  that  all  the 
people  at  that  end  of  the  Adriatic  are  pirates,  rovers, 
corsairs  retired  from  business,  as  they  haven't  been 
hanged  —  " 


98  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Uscoques,"  said  Georges. 

Hearing  the  right  name  given,  the  count,  who  had 
been  sent  by  Napoleon  on  one  occasion  to  the  Illyrian 
provinces,  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  Georges,  so 
surprised  was  he. 

"  The  affair  happened  in  that  town  where  they  make 
maraschino,"  continued  Schinner,  seeming  to  search 
for  a  name. 

"Zara,"  said  Georges.  "I've  been  there;  it  is  on 
the  coast." 

uYou  are  right,"  said  the  painter.  "I  had  gone 
there  to  look  at  the  country,  for  I  adore  scenery.  I  've 
longed  a  score  of  times  to  paint  landscape,  which  no 
one,  as  I  think,  understands  but  Mistigris,  who  will 
some  day  reproduce  Hobbema,  Ruysdael,  Claude  Lor- 
rain,  Poussin,  and  others." 

"But,"  exclaimed  the  count,  "if  he  reproduces  one 
of  them  won't  that  be  enough?  " 

4 'If  you  persist  in  interrupting,  monsieur,"  said 
Oscar,  "we  shall  never  get  on." 

"And  Monsieur  Schinner  was  not  addressing  him- 
self to  you  in  particular,  "added  Georges. 

'"T  is  n't  polite  to  interrupt,"  said  Mistigris,  senten- 
tiously,  "but  we  all  do  it,  and  conversation  would  lose 
a  great  deal  if  we  did  n't  scatter  little  condiments 
while  exchanging  our  reflections.  Therefore,  continue, 
agreeable  old  gentleman,  to  lecture  us,  if  you  like.     It 


A  Start  in  Life.  99 

is  clone  in  the  best  society,  and  you  know  the  proverb: 
4  we  must  'owl  with  the  wolves. '  M 

"I  had  heard  marvellous  things  of  Dalmatia,"  re- 
sumed Schinner,  "so  I  went  there,  leaving  Mistigris 
in  Venice  at  an  inn  —  " 

"Locanda,"  interposed  Mistigris;  "keep  to  the  local 
color." 

"Zara  is  what  is  called  a  country  town  —  " 

"Yes,"  said  Georges;  "but  it  is  fortified." 

"ParOleu  I  "  said  Schinner;  "the  fortifications  count 
for  much  in  my  adventure.  At  Zara  there  are  a  great 
many  apothecaries.  I  lodged  with  one.  In  foreign 
countries  everybody  makes  a  principal  business  of 
letting  lodgings;  all  other  trades  are  accessory.  In 
the  evening,  linen  changed,  I  sat  in  my  balcony.  In 
the  opposite  balcony  I  saw  a  woman;  oh!  such  a 
woman!  Greek,  — that-tells  all!  The  most  beautiful 
creature  in  the  town ;  almond  eyes,  lids  that  dropped 
like  curtains,  lashes  like  a  paint-brush,  a  face  with  an 
oval  to  drive  Raffaelle  mad,  a  skin  of  the  most  deli- 
cious coloring,  tints  well-blended,  velvety !  and  hands, 
oh!—" 

"They  weren't  made  of  butter  like  those  of  the 
David  school,"  put  in  Mistigris. 

"You  are  always  lugging  in  your  painting,"  cried 
Georges. 

"La,  la!"  retorted  Mistigris;  "'an  ounce  o'  paint 
is  worth  a  pound  of  swagger. '  " 


100  A  Start  in  Life. 

"And  such  a  costume!  pure  Greek!  "  continued 
Schinner.  "Conflagration  of  soul!  you  understand? 
Well,  I  questioned  my  Diafoirus;  and  be  told  me 
that  my  neighbor  was  named  Zena.  Changed  my 
linen.  The  husband,  an  old  villain,  in  order  to  marry 
Zena,  paid  three  hundred  thousand  francs  to  her  father 
and  mother,  so  celebrated  was  the  beauty  of  that  beau- 
tiful creature,  who  was  truly  the  most  beautiful  girl  in 
all  Dalmatia,  Illyria,  Adriatica,  and  other  places.  In 
those  parts  they  buy  their  wives  without  seeing 
them  —  " 

"I  shall  not  go  there,"  said  Pere  Leger. 

"There  are  nights  when  my  sleep  is  still  illuminated 
by  the  eyes  of  Zena,"  continued  Schinner.  "The  hus- 
band was  sixty-nine  years  of  age,  and  jealous!  not  as 
a  tiger,  for  they  say  of  a  tiger,  '  jealous  as  a  Dalma- 
tian ; '  and  my  man  was  worse  than  a  Dalmatian,  one 
Dalmatian,  —  he  was  three  and  a  half  Dalmatians  at 
the  very  least;  he  was  an  Uscoque,  tricoque,  archi- 
coque  in  a  bicoque  of  a  paltry  little  place  like  Zara  —  " 

"Horrid  fellow,  and  '  horrider  bellow/ "  put  in 
Mistigris. 

"Ha!  good,"  said  Georges,  laughing. 

"After  being  a  corsair,  and  probably  a  pirate,  he 
thought  no  more  of  spitting  a  Christian  on  his  dag- 
ger than  I  did  of  spitting  on  the  ground,"  continued 
Schinner.     "So  that  was  how  the  land  lay.     The  old 


A  Start  in  Ltfr  101 

wretch  had  millions,  and  was  hideous-  w-t-i  tl:c  loth  of 
an  ear  some  pacha  had  cut  off,  and  the  want  of  an 
eye  left  I  don't  know  where.  *  Never,'  said  the  little 
Diafoirus,  *  never  does  he  leave  his  wife,  never  for 
a  second.'  '  Perhaps  she  '11  want  your  services,  and 
I  could  go  in  your  clothes;  that's  a  trick  that  has 
great  success  in  our  theatres,'  1  said  to  him.  Well, 
it  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  all  the  delicious 
moments  of  that  lifetime  —  to  wit,  three  days  —  which  I 
passed  exchanging  looks  with  Zena,  and  changing 
linen  every  day.  It  was  all  the  more  violently  titillat- 
ing because  the  slightest  motion  was  significant  and 
dangerous.  At  last  it  must  have  dawned  upon  Zena's 
mind  that  none  but  a  Frenchman  and  an  artist  was 
(hiring  enough  to  make  eyes  at  her  in  the  midst  of 
the  perils  by  which  she  was  surrounded ;  and  as  she 
hated  her  hideous  pirate,  she  answered  my  glances 
with  delightful  ogles  fit  to  raise  a  man  to  the  summit 
of  Paradise  without  pulleys.  I  attained  to  the  height 
of  Don  Quixote;  I  rose  to  exaltation!  and  I  cried: 
4  The  monster  may  kill  me,  but  I  '11  go,  I  '11  go!  '  I 
gave  up  landscape  and  studied  the  ignoble  dwelling  of 
the  Uscoque.  That  night,  changed  linen,  and  put  on 
the  most  perfumed  shirt  I  had;  then  I  crossed  the 
street,  and  entered  —  " 

"The  house?"  cried  Oscar. 

"The  house?"  echoed  Georges. 


I0'2  A  Start  in  Life. 

"The  house,"  said  Schinner. 

"Well,  you  're  a  bold  dog,"  cried  farmer  Leger.  "I 
should  have  kept  out  of  it  myself." 

"Especially  as  you  could  never  have  got  through 
that  doorway,"  replied  Schinner.  "So  in  I  went,"  he 
resumed,  "and  I  found  two  hands  stretched  out  to  meet 
mine.  I  said  nothing,  for  those  hands,  soft  as  the  peel 
of  an  onion,  enjoined  me  to  silence.  A  whisper 
breathed  into  my  ear,  4He  sleeps!'  Then,  as  we  were 
sure  that  nobody  would  see  us,  we  went  to  walk,  Zena 
and  I,  upon  the  ramparts,  but  accompanied,  if  you 
please,  by  a  duenna,  as  hideous  as  an  old  portress, 
who  didn't  leave  us  any  more  than  our  shadow;  and 
I  could  n't  persuade  Madame  Pirate  to  send  her  away. 
The  next  night  we  did  the  same  thing,  and  again  I 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  the  old  woman,  but  Zena  resisted. 
As  my  sweet  love  spoke  only  Greek,  and  I  Venetian, 
we  could  n't  understand  each  other,  and  so  we  quar- 
relled. I  said  to  myself,  in  changing  linen,  '  As  sure 
as  fate,  the  next  time  there  '11  be  no  old  woman,  and 
we  can  make  it  all  up  with  the  language  of  love.'  In- 
stead of  which,  fate  willed  that  that  old  woman  should 
save  my  life!  You'll  hear  how.  The  weather  was 
fine,  and,  not  to  create  suspicion,  I  took  a  turn  at 
landscape,  —  this  was  after  our  quarrel  was  made  up, 
you  understand.  After  walking  along  the  ramparts 
for  some  time,  I  was  coming  tranquilly  home  with  my 


A  Start  in  Life.  103 

hands  in  my  pockets,  when  I  saw  the  street  crowded 
with  people.  Such  a  crowd!  like  that  for  an  execu- 
tion. It  fell  upon  me;  I  was  seized,  garroted,  gagged, 
and  guarded  by  the  police.  Ah!  you  don't  know  — 
and  I  hope  you  never  may  know  —  what  it  is  to  be 
taken  for  a  murderer  by  a  maddened  populace  which 
stones  you  and  howls  after  you  from  end  to  end  of  the 
principal  street  of  a  town,  shouting  for  your  death! 
Ah!  those  eyes  were  so  many  flames,  all  mouths  were 
a  single  curse,  while  from  the  volume  of  that  burning 
lmt red  rose  the  fearful  cry:  '  To  death!  to  death! 
down  with  the  murderer! '  " 

44 So  those  Dalmatians  spoke  our  language,  did 
they?"  said  the  count.  "I  observe  you  relate  the 
scene  as  if  it  happened  yesterday." 

Schinner  was  nonplussed. 

44 Riot  has  but  one  language,"  said  the  astute  states- 
man Mistigris. 

"Well,"  continued  Schinner,  44when  I  was  brought 
into  court  in  presence  of  the  magistrates,  I  learned 
that  the  cursed  corsair  was  dead,  poisoned  by  Zena. 
I  'd  liked  to  have  changed  linen  then.  Give  you  my 
word,  I  knew  nothing  of  that  melodrama.  It  seems 
the  G  reek  girl  pat  opium  (agraatmany  poppies,  as  mon- 
sieur told  us,  <iTo\v  about  there)  in  the  pirate's  grog, 
just  to  make  him  sleep  soundly  and  leave  her  free  for 
a  little  walk  with  me,  and  the  old  duenna,  unfortunate 


104  A  Start  in  Life. 

creature,  made  a  mistake  and  trebled  the  dose.  The 
immense  fortune  of  that  cursed  prirate  was  really  the 
cause  of  all  my  Zena's  troubles.  But  she  explained 
matters  so  ingenuously  that  I,  for  one,  was  released 
with  an  injunction  from  the  mayor  and  the  Austrian 
commissary  of  police  to  go  back  to  Rome.  Zena, 
who  let  the  heirs  of  the  Uscoque  and  the  judges  get 
most  of  the  old  villain's  wealth,  was  let  off  with  two 
years'  seclusion  in  a  convent,  where  she  still  is.  I 
am  going  back  there  some  day  to  paint  her  portrait; 
for  in  a  few  years,  you  know,  all  this  will  be  forgot- 
ten.    Such  are  the  follies  one  commits  at  eighteen! " 

"And  you  left  me  without  a  sou  in  the  locanda  at 
Venice,"  said  Mistigris.  "And  I  had  to  get  from 
Venice  to  Rome  by  painting  portraits  for  five  francs 
apiece,  which  they  did  n't  pay  me.  However,  that  was 
my  halc}Ton  time.     I  don't  regret  it." 

"You  can  imagine  the  reflections  that  came  to  me  in 
that  Dalmatian  prison,  thrown  there  without  protec- 
tion, having  to  answer  to  Austrians  and  Dalmatians, 
and  in  danger  of  losing  my  head  because  I  went  twice 
to  walk  with  a  woman.  There 's  ill-luck,  with  a 
vengeance!  " 

"Did  all  that  really  happen  to  you?"  said  Oscar, 
naively. 

"Why  should  n't  it  happen  to  him,  inasmuch  as  it 
had  already  happened   during  the  French  occupation 


A  Start  in  Life.  105 

of  Illyria  to  one  of  our  most  gallant  officers  of  artil- 
lery ?  "  said  the  count,  slyly. 

44 And  you  believed  that  artillery  officer?  "  said  Mis- 
tigris,  as  slyly  to  the  count. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Oscar. 

"Of  course  he  can't  tell  you  that  they  cut  bis  head 
off,  —  how  could  he  ?  "  said  Mistigris.  4  Dead  schin- 
ners  tell  no  tales. '  " 

"Monsieur,  are  there  farms  in  that  country?"  asked 
Pere  Leger.     44What  do  they  cultivate?" 

44 Maraschino,"  replied  Mistigris,  — 44  a  plant  that 
grows  to  the  height  of  the  lips,  and  produces  a  liqueur 
which  goes  by  that  name." 

44 Ah!  "  said  Pere  Leger. 

44I  only  stayed  three  days  in  the  town  and  fifteen  in 
prison,"  said  Schinner,  "so  I  saw  nothing;  not  even 
the  fields  where  they  grow  the  maraschino." 

44 They  are  fooling  you,"  said  Georges  to  the  farmer. 
"Maraschino  comes  in  cases." 

44  4  Romances  alter  cases,'  "  remarked  Mistigris. 


106  A  Start  in  Life. 


THE    DRAMA   BEGINS. 

Pierrotin's  vehicle  was  now  going  down  the  steep 
incline  of  the  valley  of  Saint-Brice  to  the  inn  which 
stands  in  the  middle  of  the  large  village  of  that  name, 
where  Pierrotin  was  in  the  habit  of  stopping  an  hour 
to  breathe  his  horses,  give  them  their  oats,  and  water 
them.     It  was  now  about  half-past  one  o'clock. 

"Ha!  here's  Pere  Leger,"  cried  the  inn-keeper, 
when  the  coach  pulled  up  before  the  door.  "Do  you 
breakfast?" 

"Always  once  a  day,"  said  the  fat  farmer;  "and 
I  '11  break  a  crust  here  and  now." 

"Give  us  a  good  breakfast,"  cried  Georges,  twirling 
his  cane  in  a  cavalier  manner  which  excited  the 
admiration  of  poor  Oscar. 

But  that  admiration  was  turned  to  jealousy  when  he 
saw  the  gay  adventurer  pull  out  from  a  side-pocket  a 
small  straw  case,  from  which  he  selected  a  light- 
colored  cigar,  which  he  proceeded  to  smoke  on  the 
threshold  of  the  inn  door  while  waiting  for  breakfast. 

"Do  you  smoke?  "  he  asked  of  Oscar. 


A  Start  in  Life.  107 

"Sometimes,"  replied  the  ex-schoolboy,  swelling 
out  his  little  chest  aud  assuming  a  jaunty  air. 

Georges  presented  the  open  case  to  Oscar  and 
Schinner. 

"Phew!  "  said  the  great  painter;  "ten-sous  cigars!  " 

"The  remains  of  those  I  brought  back  from  Spain," 
said  the  adventurer.     "Do  you  breakfast  here?  " 

"No,"  said  the  artist.  "I  am  expected  at  the 
chateau.  Besides,  I  took  something  at  the  Lion 
d' Argent  just  before  starting." 

"And  you?"  said  Georges  to  Oscar. 

"I  have  breakfasted,"  replied  Oscar. 

Oscar  would  have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  for 
boots  and  straps  to  his  trousers.  He  sneezed,  he 
coughed,  he  spat,  and  swallowed  the  smoke  with  ill- 
disguised  grimaces. 

"You  don't  know  how  to  smoke,"  said  Schinner; 
"look  at  me!" 

With  a  motionless  face  Schinner  breathed  in  the 
smoke  of  his  cigar  and  let  it  out  through  his  nose 
without  the  slightest  contraction  of  feature.  Then  he 
took  another  whiff,  kept  the  smoke  in  his  throat, 
removed  the  cigar  from  his  lips,  and  allowed  the  smoke 
slowly  and  gracefully  to  escape  them. 

"There,  young  man,"  said  the  great  painler. 

"Here,  young  man,  here  's  another  way;  watch  this," 
said  Georges,  imitating  Schinner,  but  swallowing  the 
smoke  and  exhaling  none. 


108  A  Start  in  Life. 

"And  my  parents  believed  they  had  educated  me!  " 
thought  Oscar,  endeavoring  to  smoke  with  better 
grace. 

But  his  nausea  was  so  strong  that  he  was  thankful 
when  Mistigris  filched  his  cigar,  remarking,  as  he 
smoked  it  with  evident  satisfaction,  "  You  have  n't  any 
contagious  diseases,  I  hope." 

Oscar  in  reply  would  fain  have  punched  his  head. 

4 'How  he  does  spend  money!"  he  said,  looking  at 
Colonel  Georges.  "Eight  francs  for  Alicante  and 
the  cheese-cakes ;  forty  sous  for  cigars ;  and  his  break- 
fast will  cost  him  —  " 

"Ten  francs  at  least,"  replied  Mistigris;  "but  that 's 
how  things  are.  "Sharp  stomachs  make  short 
purses.'  " 

"Come,  Pere  Leger,  let  us  drink  a  bottle  of  Bor- 
deaux together,"  said  Georges  to  the  farmer. 

" Twenty  francs  for  his  breakfast!"  cried  Oscar; 
"in  all,  more  than  thirty-odd  francs  since  we  started!  " 

Killed  by  a  sense  of  his  inferiority,  Oscar  sat  down 
on  a  stone  post,  lost  in  a  revery  which  did  not  allow 
him  to  perceive  that  his  trousers,  drawn  up  by  the 
effect  of  his  position,  showed  the  point  of  junction 
between  the  old  top  of  his  stocking  and  the  new 
"footing," — his  mother's  handiwork. 

"We  are  brothers  in  socks,"  said  Mistigris,  pulling 
up  his  own  trousers  sufficiently  to  show  an  effect  of 
the  same  kind,  — "  l  By  the  footing,  Hercules.'  " 


A  Start  in  Life.  109 

The  count,  who  overheard  this,  laughed  as  he  stood 
with  folded  arms  under  the  porte-cochere,  a  little  be- 
hind the  other  travellers.  However  nonsensical  these 
lads  might  be,  the  grave  statesman  envied  their  very 
follies;  he  liked  their  bragging  and  enjoyed  the  fun  of 
their  lively  chatter. 

"Well,  are  you  to  have  Les  Moulineaux?  for  I 
know  you  went  to  Paris  to  get  the  money  for  the  pur- 
chase," said  the  inn-keeper  to  Pere  Le'ger,  whom  he 
had  just  taken  to  the  stables  to  see  a  horse  he  wanted 
to  sell  to  him.  "  It  will  be  queer  if  you  manage  to 
fleece  a  peer  of  France  and  a  minister  of  State  like 
the  Comte  de  Serizy." 

The  person  thus  alluded  to  showed  no  sign  upon 
his  face  as  he  turned  to  look  at  the  farmer. 

"I've  done  for  him,"  replied  Pere  Leger,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Good  !  I  like  to  see  those  nobles  fooled.  If  you 
should  want  twenty  thousand  francs  or  so,  I  '11  lend 
them  to  you  —  But  Francois,  the  conductor  of 
Touchard's  six  o'clock  coach,  told  me  that  Monsieur 
Margueron  was  invited  by  the  Comte  de  Serizy  to  dine 
with  him  to-day  at  Presles." 

"That  was  the  plan  of  his  Excellency,  but  we  had 
our  own  little  ways  of  thwarting  it,"  said  the  farmer, 
laughing. 

"The  count  could  appoint   Monsieur   Margueron's 


110  A  Start  in  Life. 

son,  and  you  have  n't  any  place  to  give,  —  remember 
that,"  said  the  inn-keeper. 

"Of  course  I  do;  but  if  the  count  has  the  ministry 
on  his  side,  I  have  King  Louis  XVIIL,"  said  Pere 
Leger,  in  a  low  voice.  " Forty  thousand  of  his  pictures 
on  coin  of  the  realm  given  to  Moreau  will  enable  me  to 
buy  Les  Moulineaux  for  two  hundred  and  sixty  thou- 
sand, money  down,  before  Monsieur  de  Serizy  can  do 
so.  When  he  finds  the  sale  is  made,  he  '11  be  glad 
enough  to  buy  the  farm  for  three  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand,  instead  of  letting  me  cut  it  up  in  small  lots 
right  in  the  heart  of  his  property." 

"Well  done,  bourgeois /  "  cried  the  inn-keeper. 

" Don't  you  think  that's  good  play?"  said  Leger. 

"Besides,"  said  the  inn-keeper,  "the  farm  is  really 
worth  that  to  him." 

"Yes;  Les  Moulineaux  brings  in  to-day  six  thousand 
francs  in  rental.  I  '11  take  another  lease  of  it  at  seven 
thousand  five  hundred  for  eighteen  years.  Therefore 
it  is  really  an  investment  at  more  than  two  and  a  half 
per  cent.  The  count  can't  complain  of  that.  In  order 
not  to  involve  Moreau,  he  is  himself  to  propose  me  as 
tenant  and  farmer;  it  gives  him  a  look  of  acting  for 
his  master's  interests  by  finding  bim  nearly  three  per 
cent  for  his  money,  and  a  tenant  who  will  pay  well." 

"How  much  will  Moreau  make,  in  all?" 

"Well,  if  the  count  gives  him  ten  thousand  francs 


A  Start  in  Life.  Ill 

for  the  transaction  the  matter  will  bring  him  in  fifty 
thousand,  — and  well-earned,  too." 

"After  all,  the  count,  so  they  tell  me,  doesn't  like 
Presles.  And  then  he  is  so  rich,  what  does  it  matter 
what  it  costs  him?"  said  the  inn-keeper.  "I  have 
never  seen  him,  myself." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Pere  Leger.  "But  he  must  be  in- 
tending to  live  there,  or  why  should  he  spend  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  in  restoring  the  chateau  ?  It 
is  as  fine  now  as  the  King's  own  palace." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  inn-keeper,  "it  was  high  time 
for  Moreau  to  feather  his  nest. " 

"Yes,  for  if  the  masters  come  there,"  replied  Leger, 
"they  won't  keep  their  eyes  in  their  pockets." 

The  count  lost  not  a  word  of  this  conversation,  which 
was  held  in  a  low  voice,  but  not  in  a  whisper. 

"Here  I  have  actually  found  the  proofs  I  was  going 
down  there  to  seek,"  he  thought,  looking  at  the  fat 
farmer  as  he  entered  the  kitchen.  "But  perhaps," 
he  added,  "it  is  only  a  scheme;  Moreau  may  not  have 
listened  to  it." 

So  unwilling  was  he  to  believe  that  his  steward  could 
lend  himself  to  such  a  conspiracy. 

Pierrotin  here  came  out  to  water  his  horses.  The 
count,  thinking  that  the  driver  would  probably  break- 
fast with  the  farmer  and  the  inn- keeper,  feared  some 
thoughtless  indiscretion* 


112  A  Start  in  Life. 

"All  these  people  combine  against  us,"  he  thought; 
"it  is  allowable  to  baffle  them —  Pierrotin,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice  as  the  man  passed  him,  "I  promised 
you  ten  louis  to  keep  my  secret;  but  if  you  continue 
to  conceal  my  name  (and  remember,  I  shall  know  if 
you  pronounce  it,  or  make  the  slightest  sign  that  re- 
veals it  to  any  one,  no  matter  who,  here  or  at  Isle- 
Adam,  before  to-night),  I  will  give  you  to-morrow 
morning,  on  your  return  trip,  the  thousand  francs  you 
need  to  pay  for  your  new  coach.  Therefore,  by  way 
of  precaution,"  added  the  count,  striking  Pierrotin, 
who  was  pale  with  happiness,  on  the  shoulder,  "don't 
go  in  there  to  breakfast;  stay  with  your  horses." 

"Monsieur  le  comte,  I  understand  you;  don't  be 
afraid !  it  relates  to  Pere  Leger,  of  course  ?  " 

"It  relates  to  every  one,"  replied  the  count. 

"Make  yourself  easy.  — Come,  hurry,"  said  Pierro- 
tin, a  few  moments  later,  putting  his  head  into  the 
kitchen;  "We  are  late.  Pere  Leger,  you  know 
there's  a  hill  to  climb;  I'm  not  hungry,  and  I'll 
drive  on  slowly ;  you  can  soon  overtake  me,  —  it  will 
do  you  good  to  walk  a  bit." 

"What  a  hurry  you  are  in,  Pierrotin!  "  said  the  inn- 
keeper. "Can't  you  stay  and  breakfast?  The 
colonel  here  pays  for  the  wine  at  fifty  sous,  and  has 
ordered  a  bottle  of  champagne." 

"I  can't.     I've  got  a  fish  I  must  deliver  by  three 


A  Start  in  Life.  113 

o'clock  for  a  great  dinner  at  Stors;  there  's  no  fooling 
with  customers,  or  fishes,  either." 

"Very  good,"  said  Pere  Leger  to  the  inn-keeper. 
"You  can  harness  that  horse  you  want  to  sell  me  into 
the  cabriolet;  we  '11  breakfast  in  peace  and  overtake 
Pierrotin,  and  I  can  judge  of  the  beast  as  we  go 
along.     We  can  go  three  in  your  jolter." 

To  the  count's  surprise,  Pierrotin  himself  rebridled 
the  horses.  Schinner  and  Mistigris  had  walked  on. 
Scarcely  had  Pierrotin  overtaken  the  two  artists  and 
was  mounting  the  hill  from  which  Ecouen,  the  steeple 
of  Mesnil,  and  the  forests  that  surround  that  most 
beautiful  region,  came  in  sight,  when  the  gallop  of  a 
horse  and  the  jingling  of  a  vehicle  announced  the  com- 
ing of  Pere  Leger  and  the  grandson  of  Czerni-Georges, 
who  were  soon  restored  to  their  places  in  the  coucou. 

As  Pierrotin  drove  down  the  narrow  road  to  Mois- 
selles,  Georges,  who  had  so  far  not  ceased  to  talk  with 
the  farmer  of  the  beauty  of  the  hostess  at  Saint-Brice, 
suddenly  exclaimed :  "Upon  my  word,  this  landscape 
is  not  so  bad,  great  painter,  is  it?" 

"Pooh!  you  who  have  seen  the  East  and  Spain 
can't  really  admire  it." 

"I've  two  cigars  left!  If  no  one  objects,  will  you 
help  me  finish  them,  Schinner?  the  little  young  man 
there  seems  to  have  found  a  whiff  or  two  enough  for 
him." 

8 


114  A  Start  in  Life. 

Pere  Leger  and  the  count  kept  silence,  which  passed 
for  consent. 

Oscar,  furious  at  being  called  a  "little  young  man,'* 
remarked,  as  the  other  two  were  lighting  their  cigars : 

"I  am  not  the  aide-de-camp  of  Mina,  monsieur,  and 
I  have  not  yet  been  to  the  East,  but  I  shall  probably 
go  there.  The  career  to  which  my  family  destine  me 
will  spare  me,  I  trust,  the  annoyances  of  travelling 
in  a  coucou  before  I  reach  your  present  age.  When 
I  once  become  a  personage  I  shall  know  how  to  main- 
tain my  station." 

"  iJSt  ccetera  punctum  /  '  "  crowed  Mistigris,  imitat- 
ing the  hoarse  voice  of  a  young  cock;  which  made 
Oscar's  deliverance  all  the  more  absurd,  because  he  had 
just  reached  the  age  when  the  beard  sprouts  and  the 
voice  breaks.  "  'What  a  chit  for  chat! '  "  added  the 
rapin. 

"Your  family,  young  man,  destine  you  to  some 
career,  do  they?  "  said  Georges.  "Might  I  ask  what 
it  is?" 

"Diplomacy,"  replied  Oscar. 

Three  bursts  of  laughter  came  from  Mistigris,  the 
great  painter,  and  the  farmer.  The  count  himself  could 
not  help  smiling.     Georges  was  perfectly  grave. 

"By  Allah!  "  he  exclaimed,  "I  see  nothing  to  laugh 
at  in  that.  Though  it  seems  to  me,  young  man,  that 
your  respectable  mother  is,  at   the  present  moment, 


A  Start  in  Life.  115 

not  exactly  in  the  social  sphere  of  an  ambassadress. 
She  carried  a  handbag  worthy  of  the  utmost  respect, 
and  wore  shoe-strings  which  —  " 

"My  mother,  monsieur!"  exclaimed  Oscar,  in  a 
tone  of  indignation.  "That  was  the  person  in  charge 
of  our  household." 

"  '  Our  household '  is  a  very  aristocratic  term,"  re- 
marked the  count. 

"Kings  have  households,"  replied  Oscar,  proudly. 

A  look  from  Georges  repressed  the  desire  to  laugh 
which  took  possession  of  everybody ;  he  contrived  to 
make  Mistigris  and  the  painter  understand  that  it  was 
necessary  to  manage  Oscar  cleverly  in  order  to  work 
this  new  mine  of  amusement. 

"Monsieur  is  right,"  said  the  great  Schinner  to  the 
count,  motioning  towards  Oscar.  "Well-bred  people 
always  talk  of  their  '  households ; '  it  is  only  common 
persons  like  ourselves  who  say  4  home.'  For  a  man 
so  covered  with  decorations  —  " 

"  *  Nunc  my  eye,  nunc  alii,'  "  whispered  Mistigris. 

" — you  seem  to  know  little  of  the  language  of 
courts.  I  ask  your  future  protection,  Excellency," 
added  Schinner,  turning  to  Oscar. 

"I  congratulate  myself  on  having  travelled  with 
three  such  distinguished  men,"  said  the  count, — "a 
j>:l inter  already  famous,  a  future  general,  and  a  young 
diplomatist  who  may  some  day  recover  Belgium  for 
France." 


116  A  Start  in  Life. 

Having  committed  the  odious  crime  of  repudiating 
his  mother,  Oscar,  furious  from  a  sense  that  his  com- 
panions were  laughing  at  him,  now  resolved,  at  any 
cost,  to  make  them  pay  attention  to  him. 

" '  All  is  not  gold  that  glitters,'  "  he  began,  his  eyes 
flaming. 

"That's  not  it,"  said  Mistigris.  "  'All  is  not  old 
that  titters.'  You  '11  never  get  on  in  diplomacy  if  you 
don't  know  your  proverbs  better  than  that." 

"I  may  not  know  proverbs,  but  I  kuow  my  way  —  " 

"It  must  be  far,"  said  Georges,  "for  I  saw  that  per- 
son in  charge  of  your  household  give  you  provisions 
enough  for  an  ocean  voyage :  rolls,  chocolate  —  " 

"A  special  kind  of  bread  and  chocolate,  yes,  mon- 
sieur," returned  Oscar;  "my  stomach  is  much  too 
delicate  to  digest  the  victuals  of  a  tavern." 

"  'Victuals'  is  a  word  as  delicate  and  refined  as 
your  stomach,"  said  Georges. 

"Ah!  I  like  that  word  '  victuals,'  "  cried  the  great 
painter. 

"The  word  is  all  the  -fashion  in  the  best  society," 
said  Mistigris.  "I  use  it  myself  at  the  cafe  of  the 
Black  Hen." 

"Your  tutor  is,  doubtless,  some  celebrated  profes- 
sor, isn't  he?  —  Monsieur  Andrieux  of  the  Aca- 
demie  Francaise,  or  Monsieur  Royer-Collard  ?  "  asked 
Sch  inner. 


A  Start  in  Life.  117 

"My  tutor  is  or  was  the  Abbe  Loraux,  now  vicar  of 
Saint-Sulpice,"  replied  Oscar,  recollecting  the  name 
of  the  confessor  at  his  school. 

*•  Well,  you  were  right  to  take  a  private  tutor,"  said 
Mistigris.  "  '  Tuto,  tutor,  celeritus,  and  jocund.'  Of 
course,  you  will  reward  him  well,  your  abbe?  " 

"Undoubtedly  he  will  be  made  a  bishop  some  day," 
said  Oscar. 

"By  your  family  influence?"  inquired  Georges, 
gravely. 

"We  shall  probably  contribute  to  his  rise,  for  the 
Abbe  Frayssinous  is  constantly  at  our  house." 

"Ah!  you  know  the  Abbe  Frayssinous?"  asked 
the  count. 

"He  is  under  obligations  to  my  father,"  answered 
Oscar. 

"Are  you  on  your  way  to  your  estate?"  asked 
Georges. 

"No,  monsieur;  but  I  am  able  to  say  where  I  am 
going,  if  others  are  not.  I  am  going  to  the  Chateau 
de  Presles,  to  the  Comte  de  Serizv." 

"The  devil !  are  you  going  to  Presles?  "  cried  Schin- 
ner,  turning  as  red  as  a  cherry. 

"So  you  know  his  Excellency  the  Comte  de  Serizy  ?  " 
said  Georges. 

Pere  Leger  turned  round  to  look  at  Oscar  with  a 
stupefied  air. 


118  A  Start  in  Life, 

"Is  Monsieur  de  Serizy  at  Presles?"  he  said. 

"Apparently,  as  I  am  going  there,"  replied  Oscar. 

"Do  you  often  see  the  count?  "  asked  Monsieur  de 
Serizy. 

"Often,"  replied  Oscar.  "I  am  a  comrade  of  his 
son,  who  is  about  my  age,  nineteen ;  we  ride  together 
on  horseback  nearly  every  day." 

"  '  Aut  Caesar,  aut  Serizy,'  "  said  Mistigris,  senten- 
tiously. 

Pierrotin  and  Pere  Leger  exchanged  winks  on  hear- 
ing this  statement. 

"Really,"  said  the  count  to  Oscar,  "I  am  delighted 
to  meet  with  a  young  man  who  can  tell  me  about  that 
personage.  I  want  his  influence  in  a  rather  serious 
matter,  although  it  would  cost  him  nothing  to  oblige 
me.  It  concerns  a  claim  I  wish  to  press  on  the  Amer- 
ican government.  I  should  be  glad  to  obtain  infor- 
mation about  Monsieur  de  Serizy." 

"Oh!  if  you  want  to  succeed,"  replied  Oscar,  with 
a  knowing  look,  "don't  go  to  him,  but  go  to  his  wife; 
he  is  madly  in  love  with  her;  no  one  knows  more  than 
I  do  about  that;  but  she  can't  endure  him." 

"Why  not?"    said  Georges. 

"The  count  has  a  skin  disease  which  makes  him 
hideous.  Doctor  Alibert  has  tried  in  vain  to  cure  it. 
The  count  would  give  half  his  fortune  if  he  had  a  chest 
like  mine,"  said  Oscar,  swelling   himself  out.     "He 


A  Start  in  Life.  119 

lives  a  lonely  life  in  his  own  house;  gets  up  very 
eaily  in  the  morning  and  works  from  three  to  eight 
o'clock;  after  eight  he  takes  his  remedies,  — sulphur- 
baths,  steam-baths,  and  such  things.  His  valet  bakes 
him  in  a  sort  of  iron  box  —  for  he  is  always  in  hopes 
of  getting  cured." 

"If  he  is  such  a  friend  of  the  King  as  they  say 
he  is,  why  does  n't  he  get  his  Majesty  to  touch  him?" 
asked  Georges. 

"The  count  has  lately  promised  thirty  thousand 
francs  to  a  celebrated  Scotch  doctor  who  is  coming 
over  to  treat  him,"  continued  Oscar. 

"Then  his  wife  can't  be  blamed  if  she  finds 
better  — "  said  Schinner,  but  he  did  not  finish  his 
sentence. 

"I  should  say  so!  "  resumed  Oscar.  "The  poor  man 
is  so  shrivelled  and  old  you  would  take  him  for  eighty  ! 
■He  's  as  dry  as  a  parchment,  and,  unluckily  for  him, 
he  feels  his  position." 

"Most  men  would,"  said  Pere  Leger. 

"He  adores  his  wife  and  dares  not  find  fault  with 
her,"  pursued  Oscar,  rejoicing  to  have  found  a  topic 
to  which  they  listened.  "He  plays  scenes  with  her 
which  would  make  you  die  of  laughing,  —  exactly  like 
Arnolphe  in  Moliere's  comedy." 

The  count,  horror-stricken,  looked  at  Pierrotin,  who, 
finding  that  the  count  said  nothing,  concluded  that 
Madame  Clapart's  son  was  telling  falsehoods. 


120  A  Start  in  Life. 

1  'So,  monsieur,"  continued  Oscar,  "if  you  want  the 
count's  influence,  I  advise  you  to  apply  to  the  Marquis 
d'Aiglemont.  If  you  get  that  former  adorer  of 
Madame  de  Serizy  on  your  side,  you  will  win  husband 
and  wife  at  one  stroke." 

"Look  here! "  said  the  painter,  "you  seem  to  have 
seen  the  count  without  his  clothes;  are  you  his 
valet?" 

"His  valet  !  "  cried  Oscar. 

"Hang  it!  people  don't  tell  such  things  about  their 
friends  in  public  conveyances,"  exclaimed  Mistigris. 
"As  for  me,  I'm  not  listening  to  you;  I'm  deaf: 
'  discretion  plays  the  better  part  of  adder. '  " 

"  '  A  poet  is  nasty  and  not  fit,'  and  so  is  a  tale- 
bearer," cried  Schinner. 

"Great  painter,"  said  Georges,  sententiously, 
"learn  this:  you  can't  say  harm  of  people  you 
don't  know.  Now  the  little  one  here  has  proved,  in-* 
dubitably,  that  he  knows  his  Serizy  by  heart.  If  he 
had  told  us  about  the  countess,  perhaps  —  ?  " 

"Stop!  not  a  word  about  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy, 
young  men,"  cried  the  count.  "I  am  a  friend  of  her 
brother,  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  and  whoever 
attempts  to  speak  disparagingly  of  the  countess  must 
answer  to  me." 

"Monsieur  is  right,"  cried  the  painter;  "no  man 
should  blaguer  women." 


A  Start  in  Life.  121 

"God,  Honor,  and  the  Ladies!  I  believe  in  that 
melodrama,"  said  Mistigris. 

"I  don't  know  the  guerilla  chieftain,  Mina,  but 
I  know  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals,"  continued  the  count, 
looking  at  Georges;  "and  though  I  don't  wear  my 
decorations,"  he  added,  looking  at  the  painter,  "1  pre- 
vent those  who  do  not  deserve  them  from  obtaining 
any.  And  finally,  let  me  say  that  I  know  so  many 
persons  that  I  even  know  Monsieur  Grindot,  the  archi- 
tect of  Presles.  Pierrotin,  stop  at  the  next  inn;  I 
want  to  get  out  a  moment." 

Pierrotin  hurried  his  horses  through  the  village  street 
of  Moisselles,  at  the  end  of  which  was  the  inn  where 
all  travellers  stopped.  This  short  distance  was  done 
in  silence. 

"Where  is  that  young  fool  going?  "  asked  the  count, 
drawing  Pierrotin  into  the  innyard. 

"To  your  steward.  He  is  the  son  of  a  poor  lady 
who  lives  in  the  rue  de  la  Cerisaie,  to  whom  I  often 
carry  fruit,  and  game,  and  poultry  from  Presles.  She 
is  a  Madame  Husson." 

"Who  is  that  man?"  inquired  Pere  Leger  of  Pier- 
rotin when  the  count  had  left  him. 

"Faith,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Pierrotin;  "this  is 
the  first  time  1  have  driven  him.  I  should  n't  be  sur- 
prised if  he  was  that  prince  who  owns  Mattliers.  He 
has  just  told  me  to  leave  him  on  the  road  near  there; 
he  does  n't  want  to  go  on  to  Isle- Adam." 


122  A  Start  in  Life.  ' 

"Pierrotin  thinks  he  is  the  master  of  Maffliers,"  said 
Pere  Leger,  addressing  Georges  when  he  got  back  into 
the  coach. 

The  three  young  fellows  were  now  as  dull  as  thieves 
caught  in  the  act;  they  dared  not  look  at  each  other, 
and  were  evidently  considering  the  consequences  of 
their  fibs. 

"This  is  what  is  called  '  suffering  for  license  sake,'  " 
said  Mistigris. 

"You  see  I  did  know  the  count,"  said  Oscar. 

"Possibly.  But  you'll  never  be  an  ambassador," 
replied  Georges.  '  "When  people  want  to  talk  in  pub- 
lic conveyances,  they  ought  to  be  careful,  like  me,  to 
talk  without  saying  anything." 

"That's  what  speech  is  for,"  remarked  Mistigris, 
by  way  of  conclusion. 

The  count  returned  to  his  seat  and  the  coucou  rolled 
on  amid  the  deepest  silence. 

"Well,  my  friends,"  said  the  count,  when  they 
reached  the  Carreau  woods,  "here  we  all  are,  as  silent 
as  if  we  were  going  to  the  scaffold." 

"  '  Silence  gives  content,'  "  muttered  Mistigris. 

"The  weather  is  fine,"  said  Georges. 

"What  place  is  that?"  said  Oscar,  pointing  to 
the  chateau  de  Franconville,  which  produces  a  fine 
effect  at  that  particular  spot,  backed,  as  it  is,  by  the 
noble  forest  of  Saint-Martin. 


A  Start  in  Life.  123 

"How  is  it,"  cried  the  count,  "that  you,  who  say 
you  go  so  often  to  Presles,  do  not  know  Franconville?  " 

"Monsieur  knows  men,  not  castles,"  said  Mistigris. 

"Budding  diplomatists  have  so  much  else  to  take 
their  minds,"  remarked  Georges. 

"Be  so  good  as  to  remember  my  name,"  replied 
Oscar,  furious.  "I  am  Oscar  Husson,  and  ten  years 
hence  I  shall  be  famous." 

After  that  speech,  uttered  with  bombastic  assump- 
tion, Oscar  flung  himself  back  in  his  corner. 

"Husson  of  what,  of  where?"  asked  Mistigris. 

"It  is  a  great  family,"  replied  the  count.  "Husson 
de  la  Cerisaie;  monsieur  was  born  beneath  the  steps  of 
the  Imperial  throne." 

Oscar  colored  crimson  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and 
was  penetrated  through  and  through  with  a  dreadful 
foreboding. 

They  were  now  about  to  descend  the  steep  hill  of 
La  Cave,  at  the  foot  of  which,  in  a  narrow  valley, 
flanked  by  the  forest  of  Saint-Martin,  stands  the  mag- 
nificent chateau  of  Presles. 

"Messieurs,"  said  the  count,  "I  wish  you  every 
good  fortune  in  your  various  careers.  Monsieur  le 
colonel,  make  your  peace  with  the  King  of  France;  the 
CztTni-Georges  ought  not  to  snub  the  Bourbons.  I 
have  nothing  to  wish  for  you,  my  dear  Monsieur  Sch in- 
ner; your  fame  is  already  won,  and   nobly   won   by 


124  A  Start  in  Life. 

splendid  work.  But  you  are  much  to  be  feared  in 
domestic  life,  and  I,  being  a  married  man,  dare  not 
invite  you  to  my  house.  As  for  Monsieur  Husson, 
he  needs  no  protection;  he  possesses  the  secrets  of 
statesmen  and  can  make  them  tremble.  Monsieur 
Leger  is  about  to  pluck  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  and  I 
can  only  exhort  him  to  do  it  with  a  firm  hand.  Pier- 
rotin,  put  me  out  here,  and  pick  me  up  at  the  same 
place  to-morrow,"  added  the  count,  who  then  left  the 
coach  and  took  a  path  through  the  woods,  leaving  his 

late  companions  confused  and  bewildered. 

"He  must  be  that  count  who  has  hired  Franconville ; 

that 's  the  path  to  it,"  said  Leger. 

"If   ever   again,"   said  the  false  Schinner,   "I  am 

caught  blague-ing  in  a  public  coach,  I  '11  fight  a  duel 

with  myself.     It  was   your  fault,  Mistigris,"    giving 

his  rap  in  a  tap  on  the  head. 

"All  I  did  was  to  help  you  out,  and  follow  you  to 

Venice,"  said  Mistigris;  "but  that's  always  the  way, 

'  Fortune  belabors  the  slave. '  " 

"Let  me  tell  you,"  said    Georges  to   his  neighbor 

Oscar,   "that  if,   by  chance,  that  was  the    Comte   de 

Serizy,  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  skin  for  a  good  deal, 

healthy  as  you  think  it." 

Oscar,  remembering  his  mother's  injunctions,  which 

these  words  recalled  to  his  mind,  turned  pale  and  came 

to  his  senses. 


A  Start  in  Life.  125 

"Here  you  are,  messieurs!"  cried  Pierrotin,  pulling 
up  at  a  fine  iron  gate. 

'•Here  we  are  —  where?"  said  the  painter,  and 
Georges,  and  Oscar  all  at  once. 

"Well,  well!"  exclaimed  Pierrotin,  "if  that  doesn't 
beat  all!  Ah  ca,  messieurs,  have  none  of  you  been 
here  before?     Why,  this  is  the  chateau  de  Presles." 

"Oh,  yes;  all  right,  friend,"  said  Georges,  recover- 
ing his  audacity.  "But  I  happen  to  be  going  on  to 
Les  Moulineaux,"  he  added,  not  wishing  his  compan- 
ions to  know  that  he  was  really  going  to  the  chateau. 

"You  don't  say  so?  Then  you  are  coming  to  me," 
said  Pere  Leger. 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  I  'in  the  farmer  at  Moulineaux.  Hey, 
colonel,  what  brings  you  there?  " 

"To  taste  your  butter,"  said  Georges,  pulling  out 
his  portfolio. 

"Pierrotin,"  said  Oscar,  "leave  my  things  at  the 
steward's.     I  am  going  straight  to  the  chateau." 

Whereupon  Oscar  plunged  into  a  narrow  path,  not 
knowing,  in  the  least,  where  he  was  going. 

"Hi!  Monsieur  l'ambassadeur,"  cried  Pere  Leger, 
"that's  the  way  to  the  forest;  if  you  really  want  to 
get  to  the  chateau,  go  through  the  little  gate." 

Thus  Compelled  to  enter,  Oscar  disappeared  into  the 
grand  court-yard.     While  Pere  Leger  stood  watching 


126  A  Start  in  Life. 

Oscar,  Georges,  utterly  confounded  by  the  discovery 
that  the  farmer  was  the  present  occupant  of  Les  Mouli- 
neaux,  had  slipped  away  so  adroitly  that  when  the  fat 
countryman  looked  round  for  his  colonel  there  was  no 
sign  of  him. 

The  iron  gates  opened  at  Pierrotin's  demand,  and 
he  proudly  drove  in  to  deposit  with  the  concierge  the 
thousand  and  one  utensils  belonging  to  the  great 
Schinner.  Oscar  was  thunderstruck  when'  he  became 
aware  that  Mistigris  and  his  master,  the  witnesses  of 
his  bravado,  were  to  be  installed  in  the  chateau  itself. 
In  ten  minutes  Pierrotin  had  discharged  the  various 
packages  of  the  painter,  the  bundles  of  Oscar  Husson, 
and  the  pretty  little  leather  portmanteau,  which  he  took 
from  its  nest  of  hay  and  confided  mysteriously  to  the 
wife  of  the  concierge.  Then  he  drove  out  of  the 
courtyard,  cracking  his  whip,  and  took  the  road  that 
led  through  the  forest  to  Isle- Adam,  his  face  beaming 
with  the  sly  expression  of  a  peasant  who  calculates 
his  profits.  Nothing  was  lacking  now  to  his  happi- 
ness; on  the  morrow  he  would  have  his  thousand 
francs,  and,  as  a  consequence,  his  magnificent  new 
coach. 


A  Start  in  Life.  127 


VI. 

THE    MOREAU    INTERIOR. 

Oscar,  somewhat  abashed,  was  skulking  behind  a 
clump  of  trees  in  the  centre  of  the  court-yard,  and 
watching  to  see  what  became  of  his  two  road- 
companions,  when  Monsieur  Moreau  suddenly  came 
out  upon  the  portico  from  what  was  called  the  guard- 
room. He  was  dressed  in  a  long  blue  overcoat  which 
came  to  his  heels,  breeches  of  yellowish  leather  and 
top-boots,  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  a  riding-whip. 

" Ah!  my  boy,  so  here  you  are?  How  is  the  dear 
mamma?  "  he  said,  taking  Oscar  by  the  hand.  " Good- 
day,  messieurs,"  he  added  to  Mistigris  and  his  master, 
who  then  came  forward.  "You  are,  no  doubt,  the  two 
painters  whom  Monsieur  Grindot,  the  architect,  told 
me  to  expect." 

He  whistled  twice  at  the  end  of  his  whip;  the  con- 
cierge came. 

"Take  these  gentlemen  to  rooms  14  and  15. 
Madame  Moreau  will  give  you  the  keys.  Go  with  them 
to  show  the  way ;  make  fires  there,  if  necessary,  and 
take  up  all  their  things.     I  have  orders  from  Monsieur 


128  A  Start  in  Life. 

le  comte,"  he  added,  addressing  the  two  young  men, 
" to  invite  you  to  my  table,  messieurs;  we  dine  at  five, 
as  in  Paris.  If  you  like  hunting,  you  will  find  plenty 
to  amuse  you;  I  have  a  license  from  the  Eaux  et 
Forets;  and  we  hunt  over  twelve  thousand  acres  of 
forest,  not  counting  our  own  domain." 

Oscar,  the  painter,  and  Mistigris,  all  more  or  less 
subdued,  exchanged  glances,  but  Mistigris,  faithful  to 
himself,  remarked,  in  a  low  tone,  u '  Veni,  vidi, 
cecidi,  — I  came,  I  saw,  I  slaughtered.'  " 

Oscar  followed  the  steward,  who  led  him  along  at  a 
rapid  pace  through  the  park. 

"  Jacques,"  said  Moreau  to  one  of  his  children  whom 
they  met,  "run  in  and  tell  your  mother  that  little 
Husson  has  come,  and  say  to  her  that  I  am  obliged  to 
go  to  Les  Moulineaux  for  a  moment." 

The  steward,  then  about  fifty  years  old,  was  a  dark 
man  of  medium  height,  and  seemed  stern.  His  bilious 
complexion,  to  which  country  habits  had  added  a  cer- 
tain violent  coloring,  conveyed,  at  first  sight,  the  im- 
pression of  a  nature  which  was  other  than  his  own. 
His  blue  eyes  and  a  large  crow-beaked  nose  gave  him 
an  air  that  was  the  more  threatening  because  his  eyes 
were  placed  too  close  together.  But  his  large  lips,  the 
outline  of  his  face,  and  the  easy  good-humor  of  his 
manner  soon  showed  that  his  nature  was  a  kindly  one. 
Abrupt  in  speech  and  decided  in  tone,  he  impressed 


A  Start  in  Life.  129 

Oscar  immensely  by  the  force  of  his  penetration,  in- 
spired, no  doubt,  by  the  affection  which  he  felt  for  the 
boy.  Trained  by  his  mother  to  magnify  the  steward, 
Oscar  had  always  felt  himself  very  small  in  Moreau's 
presence;  but  on  reaching  Presles  a  new  sensation 
came  over  him,  as  if  he  expected  some  harm  from 
this  fatherly  friend,  his  only  protector. 

"Well,  my  Oscar,  you  don't  look  pleased  at  getting 
here,"  said  the  steward.  "And  yet  you  '11  find  plenty 
of  amusement;  you  shall  learn  to  ride  on  horseback, 
and  shoot,"  and  hunt." 

"I  don't  know  any  of  those  things,"  said  Oscar, 
stupidly. 

" But  I  brought  you  here  to  learn  them." 

4 'Mamma  told  me  only  to  stay  two  weeks  because 
of  Madame  Moreau." 

"Oh!  we'll  see  about  that,"  replied  Moreau,  rather 
wounded  that  his  conjugal  authority  was  doubted. 

Moreau's  youngest  son,  an  active,  strapping  lad  of 
twelve,  here  ran  up. 

"Come,"  said  his  father,  "take  Oscar  to  your 
mother." 

He  himself  went  rapidly  along  the  shortest  path  to 
the  gamekeeper's  house,  which  was  situated  between 
the  park  and  the  forest. 

The  pavilion,  or  lodge,  in  which  the  count  had  estab- 
lished his  steward,,  was  built  a  few  years  before  the 

9 


130  A  Start  in  Life. 

Revolution.  It  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  large  garden, 
one  wall  of  which  adjoined  the  court-yard  of  the  stables 
and  offices  of  the  chateau  itself.  Formerly  its  chief 
entrance  was  on  the  main  road  to  the  village.  But 
after  the  count's  father  bought  the  building,  he  closed 
that  entrance  and  united  the  place  with  his  own 
property. 

The  house,  built  of  freestone,  in  the  style  of  the 
period  of  Louis  XV.  (it  is  enough  to  say  that  its  exte- 
rior decoration  consisted  of  a  stone  drapery  beneath 
the  windows,  as  in  the  colonnades  of  the  Place  Louis 
XV.,  the  flutings  of  which  were  stiff  and  ungainly),  had 
on  the  ground-floor  a  fine  salon  opening  into  a  bed- 
room, and  a  dining-room  connected  with  a  billiard- 
roOm.  These  rooms,  lying  parallel  to  one  another, 
were  separated  by  a  staircase,  in  front  of  which  was  a 
sort  of  peristyle  which  formed  an  entrance-hall,  on 
which  the  two  suites  of  rooms  on  either  side  opened. 
The  kitchen  was  beneath  the  dining-room,  for  the  whole 
building  was  raised  ten  steps  from  the  ground  level. 

By  placing  her  own  bedroom  on  the  first  floor  above 
the  ground-floor,  Madame  Moreau  was  able  to  trans- 
form the  chamber  adjoining  the  salon  into  a  boudoir. 
These  two  rooms  were  richly  furnished  with  beautiful 
pieces  culled  from  the  rare  old  furniture  of  the  chateau. 
The  salon,  hung  with  blue  and  white  damask,  formerly 
the  curtains  of  the  state-bed,  wa3  draped  with  ample 


A  Start  in  Life.  131 

portieres  and  window  curtains  lined  with  white  silk. 
Pictures,  evidently  from  old  panels,  plant-stands,  vari- 
ous pretty  articles  of  modern  upholstery,  handsome 
lamps,  and  a  rare  old  cut-glass  chandelier,  gave  a 
(jron diose  appearance  to  the  room.  The  carpet  was  a 
Persian  rug.  The  boudoir,  wholly  modern,  and  fur- 
nished entirely  after  Madame  Moreau's  own  taste,  was 
arranged  in  imitation  of  a  tent,  with  ropes  of  blue  silk 
on  a  gray  background.  The  classic  divan  was  there, 
of  course,  with  its  pillows  and  footstools  The  plant- 
stands,  taken  care  of  by  the  head-gardener  of  PresJes, 
rejoiced  the  eye  with  their  pyramids  of  bloom.  The 
dining-room  and  billiard-room  were  furnished  in 
mahogany. 

Around  the  house  the  steward's  wife  had  laid  out  a 
beautiful  garden,  carefully  cultivated,  which  opened 
into  the  great  park.  Groups  of  choice  trees  hid  the 
offices  and  stables.  To  improve  the  entrance  by 
which  visitors  came  to  see  her,  she  had  substituted  a 
handsome  iron  gateway  for  the  shabby  railing,  which 
she  discarded. 

The  dependence  in  which  the  situation  of  their 
dwelling  placed  the  Moreaus,  was  thus  adroitly  con- 
cealed, and  they  seemed  all  the  more  like  rich  and  in- 
dependent persons  taking  care  of  the  property  of  a 
friend,  because  neither  the  count  nor  the  countess  ever 
came  to  Presles  to  take  down  their  pretensions.     More- 


132  A  Start  in  Life. 

over,  the  perquisites  granted  by  Monsieur  de  Serizy 
allowed  them  to  live  in  the  midst  of  that  abundance 
which  is  the  luxury  of  county  life.  Milk,  eggs, 
poultry,  game,  fruits,  flowers,  forage,  vegetables, 
wood,  the  steward  and  his  wife  used  in  profusion,  bay- 
ing absolutely  nothing  but  butcher' s-meat,  wines, 
and  the  colonial  supplies  required  by  their  life  of 
luxury.  The  poultry-maid  baked  their  bread ;  and  of 
late  years  Moreau  had  paid  his  butcher  with  pigs  from 
the  farm,  after  reserving  those  he  needed  for  his  own ' 
use.* 

On  one  occasion,  the  countess,  always  kind  and  good 
to  her  former  maid,  gave  her,  as  a  souvenir  perhaps, 
a  little  travelling-carriage,  the  fashion  of  which  was 
out  of  date.  Moreau  had  it  repainted,  and  now  drove 
his  wife  about  the  country  with  two  good  horses  which 
belonged  to  the  farm.  Besides  these  horses,  Moreau 
had  his  own  saddle-horse.  He  did  enough  farming 
on  the  count's  property  to  keep  the  horses  and  main- 
tain his  servants.  He  stacked  three  hundred  tons  of 
excellent  hay,  but  accounted  for  only  one  hundred, 
making  use  of  a  vague  permission  once  granted  by  the 
count.  He  kept  his  poultry-yard,  pigeon-cotes,  and 
cattle  at  the  cost  of  the  estate,  but  the  manure  of  the 
stables  was  used  by  the  count's  gardeners.  All  these 
little  stealings  had  some  ostensible  excuse. 

Madame  Moreau  had  taken  into  her  service  a  daugh- 


A  Start  in  Life.  133 

ter  of  one  of  the  gardeners,  who  was  first  her  maid  and 
afterwards  her  cook.  The  poultry-girl,  also  the  dairy- 
maid, assisted  in  the  work  of  the  household;  and  the 
steward  had  hired  a  discharged  soldier  to  groom  the 
horses  and  do  the  heavy  labor. 

At  Nerville,  Chaumont,  Maffliers,  Nointel,  and 
other  places  of  the  neighborhood,  the  handsome  wife 
of  the  steward  was  received  by  persons  who  either  did 
not  know,  or  pretended  not  to  know  her  previous  con- 
dition. Moreau  did  services  to  many  persons.  He 
induced  his  master  to  agree  to  certain  things  which 
seem  trifles  in  Paris,  but  are  really  of  immense  impor- 
tance in  the  country.  After  bringing  about  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  certain  juge  de  paix  at  Beaumont  and  also 
at  Isle- Adam,  he  had,  in  the  same  year,  prevented  the 
dismissal  of  a  keeper-general  of  the  Forests,  and  ob- 
tained the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor  for  the  first 
cavalry-sergeant  at  Beaumont.  Consequently,  no 
festivity  was  ever  given  among  the  bourgeoisie  to 
which  Monsieur  and  Madame  Moreau  were  not  invited. 
The  rector  of  Presles  and  the  mayor  of  Presles  came 
every  evening  to  play  cards  with  them.  It  is  difficult 
for  a  man  not  to  be  kind  and  hospitable  after  feather- 
ing his  nest  so  comfortably. 

A  pretty  woman,  and  an  affected  one,  as  all  retired 
waiting-maids  of  great  ladies  are,  for  after  they  are 
married  tbey  imitate  tjjtieir  nii.-tir.sse3,  Madame  Moreau 


134  A  Start  in  Life. 

imported  from  Paris  all  the  new  fashions.  She  wore 
expensive  boots,  and  never  was  seen  on  foot,  except, 
occasionally,  in  the  finest  weather.  Though  her  hus- 
band allowed  but  five  hundred  francs  a  year  for  her 
toilet,  that  sum  is  immense  in  the  provinces,  espe- 
cially if  well  laid  out.  So  that  Madame  Moreau,  fair, 
rosy,  and  fresh,  about  thirty-six  years  of  age,  still 
slender  and  delicate  in  shape  in  spite  of  her  three 
children,  played  the  young  girl  and  gave  herself  the 
airs  of  a  princess.  If,  when  she  drove  by  in  her 
caleche,  some  stranger  had  asked,  "Who  is  she?" 
Madame  Moreau  would  have  been  furious  had  she 
heard  the  reply:  "The  wife  of  the  steward  at  Presles." 
She  wished  to  be  taken  for  the  mistress  of  the  chateau. 
In  the  villages,  she  patronized  the  people  in  ihe  tone 
of  a  great  lady.  The  influence  of  her  husband  over 
the  count,  proved  in  so  many  ways,  prevented  the 
small  bourgeoisie  from  laughing  at  Madame  Moreau, 
who,  in  the  eyes  of  the  peasants,  was  really  a  per- 
sonage. 

Estelle  (her  name  was  Estelle)  took  no  more  part  in 
the  affairs  of  the  stewardship  than  the  wife  of  a  broker 
does  in  her  husband's  affairs  at  the  Bourse.  She  even 
depended  on  Moreau  for  the  care  of  the  household  and 
their  own  fortune.  Confident  of  his  means,  she  was  a 
thousand  leagues  from  dreaming  that  this  comfortable 
existence,  which  had  lasted  for  seventeen  years,  could 


A  Start  in  Life.  135 

ever  be  endangered.  And  yet,  when  she  heard  of  the 
count's  determination  to  restore  the  magnificent 
chateau,  she  felt  that  her  enjoyments  were  threatened, 
and  she  urged  her  husband  to  come  to  the  arrangement 
with  Leger  about  Les  Moulineaux,  so  that  they  might 
retire  from  Presles  and  live  at  Isle-Adam.  She  had 
no  intention  of  returning  to  a  position  that  was  more 
or  less  that  of  a  servant  in  presence  of  her  former  mis- 
tress, who,  indeed,  would  have  laughed  to  see  her 
established  in  the  lodge  with  all  the  airs  and  graces  of 
a  woman  of  the  world. 

The  rancorous  enmity  which  existed  between  the 
Reyberts  and  the  Moreaus  came  from  a  wound  inflicted 
by  Madame  de  Reybert  upon  Madame  Moreau  on  the  first 
occasion  when  the  latter  assumed  precedence  over  the 
former  on  her  first  arrival  at  Pre3les,  the  wife  of  the 
steward  being  determined  not  to  allow  her  supremacy 
to  be  undermined  by  a  woman  nee  de  Corroy.  Madame 
de  Reybert  thereupon  reminded,  or,  perhaps,  informed 
the  whole  country-side  of  Madame  Moreau's  former 
station.  The  words  "waiting-maid"  flew  from  lip  to 
lip.  The  envious  acquaintances  of  the  Moreaus 
throughout  the  neighborhood  from  Beaumont  to  Mois- 
selles,  began  tov  carp  and  criticise  with  such  eagerness 
that  a  few  sparks  of  the  conflagration  fell  into  the 
Moreau  household.  For  four  years  the  Reyberts,  cut 
dead  by  the  handsome  Estelle,  found  themselves  the 


136  A  Start  in  Life. 

objects  of  so  much  animadversion  on  the  part  of  the 
adherents  of  the  Moreaus  that  their  position  at  Presles 
would  not  have  been  endurable  without  the  thought  of 
vengeance  which  had,  so  far,  supported  them. 

The  Moreaus,  who  were  very  friendly  with  Grindot 
the  architect,  had  received  notice  from  him  of  the  early 
arrival  of  two  painters  sent  down  to  finish  the  decora- 
tions of  the  chateau,  the  principal  paintings  for  which 
were  just  completed  by  Schinner.  The  great  painter 
had  recommended  for  this  work  the  artist  who  was 
accompanied  by  Mistigris.  For  two  days  past 
Madame  Moreau  had  been  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation, 
and  had  put  herself  under  arms  to  receive  him.  An 
artist,  who  was  to  be  her  guest  and  companion  for 
weeks,  demanded  some  effort.  Schinner  and  his 
wife  had  their  own  apartment  at  the  chateau,  where, 
by  the  count's  express  orders,  they  were  treated  with 
all  the  consideration  due  to  himself.  Grindot,  who 
stayed  at  the  steward's  house,  showed  such  respect  for 
the  great  artist  that  neither  the  steward  nor  his  wife 
had  attempted  to  put  themselves  on  familiar  terms 
with  him.  Moreover,  the  noblest  and  richest  people 
in  the  surrounding  country  had  vied  with  each  other  in 
paying  attention  to  Schinner  and  his  wife.  So, 
very  well  pleased  to  have,  as  it  were,  a  little  revenge 
of  her  own,  Madame  Moreau  was  determined  to  cry  up 
the  artist  she  was  now  expecting,  and  to  present  him 


A  Start  in  Life.  137 

to  her  social  circle  as  equal  in  talent  to  the  great 
Schinner. 

Though  for  two  days  past  Moreau's  pretty  wife  had 
arrayed  herself  coquettishly,  the  prettiest  of  her  toi- 
lets had  been  reserved  for  this  very  Saturday,  when,  as 
she  felt  no  doubt,  the  artist  would  arrive  for  dinner. 
A  pink  gown  in  very  narrow  stripes,  a  pink  belt  with 
a  richly  chased  gold  buckle,  a  velvet  ribbon  and  cross 
at  her  throat,  and  velvet  bracelets  on  her  bare  arms 
(Madame  de  Serizy  had  handsome  arms  and  showed 
them  much),  together  with  bronze  kid  shoes  and 
thread  stockings,  gave  Madame  Moreau  all  the  appear- 
ance of  an  elegant  Parisian.  She  wore,  also,  a  superb 
bonnet  of  Leghorn  straw,  trimmed  with  a  bunch  of 
moss  roses  from  Nattier's,  beneath  the  spreading  sides 
of  which  rippled  the  curls  of  her  beautiful  blond  hair. 

After  ordering  a  very  choice  dinner  and  reviewing 
the  condition  of  her  rooms,  she  walked  about  the 
grounds,  so  as  to  be  seen  standing  near  a  flower-bed  in 
the  court-yard  of  the  chateau,  like  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  on  the  arrival  of  the  coach  from  Paris.  She 
held  above  her  head  a  charming  rose-colored  parasol 
lined  with  white  silk  and  fringed.  Seeing  that  Pier- 
rotin  merely  left  Mistigris's  queer  packages  with  the 
concierge,  having,  apparently,  brought  no  passengers, 
Estelle  retired  disappointed  and  regretting  the  trouble 
of   making  her  useless    toilet.      Like  many  persons 


138  A  Start  in  Life. 

who  are  dressed  in  their  best,  she  felt  incapable  of 
any  other  occupation  than  that  of  sitting  idly  in  her 
salon  awaiting  the  coach  from  Beaumont,  which  usually 
passed  about  an  hour  after  that  of  Pierrotin,  though  it 
did  not  leave  Paris  till  mid-day.  She  was,  therefore, 
in  her  own  apartment  when  the  two  artists  walked  up 
to  the  chateau,  and  were  sent  by  Moreau  himself  to 
their  rooms  where  they  made  their  regulation  toilet 
for  dinner.  The  pair  had  asked  questions  of  their 
guide,  the  gardener,  who  told  them  so  much  of  Madame 
Moreau' s  beauty  that  they  felt  the  necessity  of  "rig- 
ging themselves  up"  (studio  slang).  They,  therefore, 
put  on  their  most  superlative  suits  and  then  walked 
over  to  the  steward's  lodge,  piloted  by  Jacques  Moreau, 
the  eldest  son,  a  hardy  youth,  dressed  like  an  English 
boy  in  a  handsome  jacket  with  a  turned-over  collar, 
who  was  spending  his  vacation  like  a  fish  in  water  on 
the  estate  where  his  father  and  mother  reigned  as 
autocrats. 

"Mamma,"  he  said,  "here  are  the  two  artists  sent 
down  by  Monsieur  Schinner." 

Madame  Moreau,  agreeably  surprised,  rose,  told 
her  son  to  place  chairs,  and  began  to  display  her 
graces. 

"Mamma,  the  Husson  boy  is  with  papa,"  added  the 
lad;  "shall  I  fetch  him?" 

"You  need  not  hurry;  go  and  play  with  him,"  said 
his  mother. 


A  Start  in  Life.  139 

The  remark  "yon  need  not  hurry  "  proved  to  the  two 
artists  the  unimportance  of  their  late  travelling  com- 
panion in  the  eyes  of  their  hostess;  but  it  also  showed, 
what  they  did  not  know,  the  feeling  of  a  step-mother 
against  a  step-son.  Madame  Moreau,  after  seventeen 
years  of  married  life,  could  not  be  ignorant  of  the 
steward's  attachment  to  Madame  Clapart  and  the  little 
Husson,  and  she  hated  both  mother  and  child  so 
vehemently  that  it  is  not  surprising  that  Moreau  had 
never  before  risked  bringing  Oscar  to  Presles. 

44 We  are  requested,  my  husband  and  myself," 
she  said  to  the  two  artists,  "to  do  you  the  honors  of 
the  chateau.  We  both  love  art,  and,  above  all, 
artists/'  she  added  in  a  mincing  tone;  "and  I  beg  you 
to  make  yourselves  at  home  here.  In  the  country, 
you  know,  every  one  should  be  at  their  ease;  one  must 
feel  wholly  at  liberty,  or  life  is  too  insipid.  We  have 
already  had  Monsieur  Schinner  with  us." 

Mistigris  gave  a  sly  glance  at  his  companion. 

"You  know  him,  of  course?"  continued  Estelle, 
after  a  slight  pause. 

"Who  does  not  know  him,  madame?"  said  the 
painter. 

"Knows  him  like  his  double,"  remarked  Mistigris. 

"Monsieur  Grindot  told  me  your  name,"  said 
Madame  Moreau  to  the  painter.     "Rut —  " 

"Joseph  Bridau,"  he  replied,  wondering  with  what 
sort  of  woman  he  had  to  do. 


140  A  Start  in  Life. 

Mistigris  began  to  rebel  internally  against  the 
patronizing  manner  of  the  steward's  wife;  but  he 
waited,  like  Bridau,  for  some  word  which  might  give 
him  his  cue;  one  of  those  words  de  singe  a  dauphin 
which  artists,  cruel,  born-observers  of  the  ridiculous 
—  the  pabulum  of  their  pencils  —  seize  with  such 
avidity.  Meantime  Estelle's  clumsy  hands  and  feet 
struck  their  eyes,  and  presently  a  word,  a  phrase  or 
two,  be'traying  her  past,  and  quite  out  of  keeping  with 
the  elegance  of  her  dress,  made  the  two  young  fellows 
aware  of  their  prey.  A  single  glance  at  each  other  was 
enough  to  arrange  a  scheme  that  they  should  take 
Estelle  seriously  on  her  own  ground,  and  thus  find 
amusement  enough  during  the  time  of  their  stay. 

"You  say  you  love  art,  madame;  perhaps  you  culti- 
vate it  successfully,"  said  Joseph  Bridau. 

"No.  Without  being  neglected,  my  education  was 
purely  commercial ;  but  I  have  so  profound  and  deli- 
cate a  sense  of  art  that  Monsieur  Schinner  always 
asked  me,  when  he  had  finished  a  piece  of  work,  to 
give  him  my  opinion  on  it." 

"Just  as  Moliere  consulted  La  Foret,"  said  Mis- 
tigris. 

Not  knowing  that  La  Foret  was  Moliere's  servant- 
woman,  Madame  Moreau  inclined  her  head  graciously, 
showing  that  in  her  ignorance  she  accepted  the  speech 
as  a  compliment. 


A  Start  in  Life.  141 

"Did  n't  he  propose  to  croquer  you?  M  asked  Bridau. 
"Painters  are  eager  enough  after  handsome  women." 

"What  may  you  mean  by  such  language?  " 

"In  the  studios  we  say  croquer,  craunch,  nibble, 
for  sketching,"  interposed  Mistigris,  with  an  insinu- 
ating air,  "and  we  are  always  wanting  to  croquer 
beautiful  heads.  That 's  the  origin  of  the  expression, 
*  She  is  pretty  enough  to  eat. '  " 

"I  was  not  aware  of  the  origin  of  the  term,"  she 
replied,  with  the  sweetest  glance  at  Mistigris. 

"My  pupil  here,"  said  Bridau,  "Monsieur  Leon  de 
Lora,  shows  a  remarkable  talent  for  portraiture.  He 
would  be  too  happy,  I  know,  to  leave  you  a  souvenir 
of  our  stay  by  painting  your  Charming  head,  madame." 

Joseph  Bridau  made  a  sign  to  Mistigris  which 
meant:  "Come,  sail  in,  and  push  the  matter;  she  is 
not  so  bad  in  looks,  this  woman." 

Accepting  the  glance,  Leon  de  Lora  slid  down  upon 
the  sofa  beside  Estelle  and  took  her  hand,  which  she 
permitted. 

"Oh!  madame,  if  you  would  like  to  offer  a  surprise 
to  your  husband,  and  will  give  me  a  few  secret  sit- 
tings I  would  endeavor  to  surpass  myself.  You  are  so 
beautiful,  so  fresh,  so  charming!  A  man  without  any 
talent  might  become  a  genius  in  painting  you.  He 
would  draw  from  your  eyes  —  " 

"We  must  paint  your  dear  children  in  the  ara- 
besques," said  Bridau,  Interrupting  Mistigris. 


142  A  Start  in  Life. 

"I  would  rather  have  them  in  the  salon;  but  per- 
haps I  am  indiscreet  in  asking  it,"  she  replied,  looking 
at  Bridau  coquettishly. 

"  Beauty,  madame,  is  a  sovereign  whom  all  painters 
worship;  it  has  unlimited  claims  upon  them." 

"They  are  both  charming,"  thought  Madame 
Moreau.  " Do  you  enjoy  driving?  Shall  I  take  you 
through  the  woods,  after  dinner,  in  my  carriage  ?  " 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  cried  Mistigris,  in  three  ecstatic 
tones.  "Why,  Presles  will  prove  our  terrestrial 
paradise." 

"With  an  Eve,  a  fair,  young,  fascinating  woman," 
added  Bridau. 

Just  as  Madame  Moreau  was  bridling,  and  soaring 
to  the  seventh  heaven,  she  was  recalled  like  a  kite  by 
a  twitch  at  its  line. 

"Madame!"  cried  her  maid-servant,  bursting  into 
the  room. 

"Rosalie,"  said  her  mistress,  "who  allowed  you  to 
come  here  without  being  sent  for?  " 

Rosalie  paid  no  heed  to  this  rebuke,  but  whispered 
in  her  mistress's  ear:  — 

"The  count  is  at  the  chateau." 

"Has  he  asked  for  me?"  said  the  steward's  wife. 

"No,  madame;  but  he  wants  his  trunk  and  the  key 
of  his  apartment." 

"Then  give  them  to  him,"  she  replied,  making  an 
impatient  gesture  to  hide  her  real  trouble. 


A  Start  in  Life.  143 

"Mamma!  here  's  Oscar  Husson,"  said  her  youngest 
son,  bringing  in  Oscar,  who  turned  as  red  as  a  poppy 
on  seeing  the  two  artists  in  evening  dress. 

uOh!  so  you  have  come,  my  little  Oscar,"  said 
Estelle,  stiftly.  "I  hope  you  will  now  go  and  dress," 
she  added,  after  looking  at  him  contemptuously  from 
head  to  foot.  "Your  mother,  I  presume,  has  not  ac- 
customed you  to  dine  in  such  clothes  as  those." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  cruel  Mistigris,  "a  future  diplo- 
matist knows  the  saying  that  '  two  coats  are  better 
than  none.'  " 

"How  do  you  mean,  a  future  diplomatist?"  ex- 
claimed Madame  Moreau. 

Poor  Oscar  had  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  in  turn 
from  Joseph  to  Leon. 

"Merely  a  joke  made  in  travelling,"  replied  Joseph, 
who  wanted  to  save  Oscar's  feelings  out  of  pity. 

"The  boy  just  wanted  to  be  funny  like  the  rest  of 
us,  and  he  blayued,  that's  all,"  said  Mistigris. 

"Madame,"  said  Rosalie,  returning  to  the  door  of 
the  salon,  "his  Excellency  has  ordered  dinner  for 
eight,  and  wants  it  served  at  six  o'clock.  What  are 
we  to  do?" 

During  Estelle's  conference  with  her  head-woman 
the  two  artists  and  Oscar  looked  at  each  other  in  con- 
sternation; their  glances  were  expressive  of  terrible 
apprehension. 


144  A  Start  in  Life. 

"His  Excellency!  who  is  he?"  said  Joseph  Bridau. 

"Why,  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Serizy,  of  course," 
replied  little  Moreau. 

"Could  it  have  been  the  count  in  the  coucou?  "  said 
Leon  de  Lora. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Oscar,  "the  Comte  de  Serizy 
always  travels  in  his  own  carriage  with  four  horses. 

"How  did  the  Comte  de  Serizy  get  here?  "  said  the 
painter  to  Madame  Moreau,  when  she  returned,  much 
discomfited,  to  the  salon. 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "I  cannot 
explain  to  myself  this  sudden  arrival ;  nor  do  I  know 
what  has  brought  him  —     And  Moreau  not  here !  " 

"His  Excellency  wishes  Monsieur  Schinner  to  come 
over  to  the  chateau,"  said  a  gardener,  coming  to  the 
door  of  the  salon.  "And  he  begs  Monsieur  Schinner 
to  give  him  the  pleasure  to  dine  with  him;  also 
Monsieur  Mistigris." 

"Done  for!  "  cried  the  rapin,  laughing.  "He  whom 
we  took  for  a  bourgeois  in  the  coucou  was  the  count. 
You  may  well  say:  ■  Sour  are  the  curses  of  per- 
versity.' " 

Oscar  was  very  nearly  changed  to  a  pillar  of  salt; 
for,  at  this  revelation,  his  throat  felt  Salter  than  the 
sea. 

"And  you,  who  talked  to  him  about  his  wife's  lovers 
and  his  skin  diseases!"  said  Mistigris,  turning  on 
Oscar. 


A  Start  in  Life.  145 

"What  does  he  mean?"  exclaimed  the  steward's 
wife,  gazing  after  the  two  artists,  who  went  away 
laughing  at  the  expression  of  Oscar's  face. 

Oscar  remained  dumb,  confounded,  stupefied,  hear- 
ing nothing,  though  Madame  Moreau  questioned  him 
and  shook  him  violently  by  his  arm,  which  she  caught 
and  squeezed.  She  gained  nothing,  however,  and  was 
forced  to  leave  him  in  the  salon  without  an  answer,  for 
Rosalie  appeared  again,  to  ask  for  linen  and  silver, 
and  to  beg  she  would  go  herself  and  see  that  the  mul- 
tiplied orders  of  the  count  were  executed.  All  the 
household,  together  with  the  gardeners  and  the  con- 
cierge and  his  wife,  were  going  and  coming  in  a  con- 
fusion that  may  readily  be  imagined.  The  master 
had  fallen  upon  his  own  house  like  a  bombshell. 

From  the  top  of  the  hill  near  La  Cave,  where  he  left 
the  coach,  the  count  had  gone,  by  a  path  through  the 
woods  well-known  to  him,  to  the  house  of  his  game- 
keeper. The  keeper  was  amazed  when  he  saw  his  real 
master. 

"Is  Moreau  here?"  said  the  count.  "I  see  his 
horse." 

"No,  monseigneur;  he  means  to  go  to  Moulineaux 
before  dinner,  and  he  has  left  his  horse  here  while  he 
went  to  the  chateau  to  give  a  few  orders." 

"If  you  value  your  place,"  said  the  count,  "you  will 
take  that  horse  and  ride  at  once  to  Beaumont,  where 

10 


146  A  Start  in  Life. 

you  will  deliver  to  Monsieur  Margueron  the  note  that 
I  shall  now  write." 

So  saying  the  count  entered  the  keeper's  lodge  and 
wrote  a  line,  folding  it  in  a  way  impossible  to  open 
without  detection,  and  gave  it  to  the  man  as  soon  as 
he  saw  him  in  the  saddle. 

"Not  a  word  to  any  one,"  he  said,  "and  as  for 
you,  madame,"  he  added  to  the  gamekeeper's  wife, 
"if  Moreau  comes  back  for  his  horse,  tell  him  merely 
that  I  have  taken  it." 

The  count  then  crossed  the  park  and  entered  the 
court-yard  of  the  chateau  through  the  iron  gates.  How- 
ever worn-out  a  man  may  be  by  the  wear  and  tear  of 
public  life,  by  his  own  emotions,  by  his  own  mistakes 
and  disappointments,  the  soul  of  any  man  able  to  love 
deeply  at  the  count's  age  is  still  young  and  sensitive  to 
treachery.  Monsieur  de  Serizy  had  felt  such  pain  at  the 
thought  that  Moreau  had  deceived  him,  that  even  after 
hearing  the  conversation  at  Saint- Brice  he  thought  him 
less  an  accomplice  of  Leger  and  the  notary  than  their 
tool.  On  the  threshold  of  the  inn,  and  while  that 
conversation  was  still  going  on,  he  thought  of  pardon- 
ing his  steward  after  giving  him  a  good  reproof. 
Strange  to  say,  the  dishonesty  of  his  confidential  agent 
occupied  his  mind  as  a  mere  episode  from  the  moment 
when  Oscar  revealed  his  infirmities.  Secrets  so  care- 
fully guarded  could  only  have  been  revealed  by  Moreau, 


A  Start  in  Life.  147 

who  had,  no  doubt,  laughed  over  the  hidden  troubles 
of  his  benefactor  with  either  Madame  de  Serizy's  for- 
mer maid  or  with  the  Aspasia  of  the  Directory. 

As  he  walked  along  the  wood-path,  this  peer  of 
France,  this  statesman,  wept  as  young  men  weep;  he 
wept  his  last  tears.  All  human  feelings  were  so  cruelly 
hurt  by  one  stroke  that  the  usually  calm  man  staggered 
through  his  park  like  a  wounded  deer. 

When  Moreau  arrived  at  the  gamekeeper's  lodge 
and  asked  for  his  horse,  the  keeper's  wife  replied:  — 

"Monsieur  le  comte  has  just  taken  it." 

"Monsieur  le  comte!"  cried  Moreau.  "Whom  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"Why,  the  Comte  de  Serizy,  our  master,"  she  re- 
plied. "He  is  probably  at  the  chateau  by  this  time," 
she  added,  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  steward,  who, 
unable  to  understand  the  meaning  of  her  words,  turned 
back  towards  the  chateau. 

But  he  presently  turned  again  and  came  back  to  the 
lodge,  intending  to  question  the  woman  more  closely; 
for  he  began  to  see  something  serious  in  this  secret 
arrival,  and  the  apparently  strange  method  of  his 
master's  return.  But  the  wife  of  the  gamekeeper, 
alarmed  to  find  herself  caught  in  a  vise  between  the 
count  and  his  steward,  had  locked  herself  into  the 
house,  resolved  not  to  open  to  any  but  her  husband. 
Moreau,  more  and  more  uneasy,  ran  rapidly,  in  spite  of 


148  A  Start  in  Life. 

his  boots  and  spurs,  to  the  chateau,  where  he  was  told 
that  the  count  was  dressing. 

4 'Seven  persons  invited  to  dinner!"  cried  Rosalie 
as  soon  as  she  saw  him. 

Moreau  then  went  through  the  offices  to  his  own 
house.  On  his  way  he  met  the  poultry-girl,  who  was 
having  an  altercation  with  a  handsome  young  man. 

"Monsieur  le  comte  particularly  told  me  a  colonel, 
an  aide-de-camp  of  Mina,"  insisted  the  girl. 

"lam  not  a  colonel,"  replied  Georges. 

"But  is  n't  your  name  Georges?  " 

"What's  all  this?"  said  the  steward,  intervening. 

"Monsieur,  my  name  is  Georges  Marest;  I  am  the 
son  of  a  rich  wholesale  ironmonger  in  the  rue  Saint- 
Martin  ;  I  come  on  business  to  Monsieur  le  Comte  de 
Serizy  from  Maitre  Crottat,  a  notary,  whose  second 
clerk  I  am." 

"And  I,"  said  the  girl,  "am  telling  him  that  mon- 
seigneur  said  to  me:  '  There  '11  come  a  colonel  named 
Czerni-Georges,  aide-de-camp  to  Mina ;  he  '11  come  by 
Pierrotin's  coach;  if  he  asks  for  me  show  him  into 
the  waiting-room.'  " 

"Evidently,"  said  the  clerk,  "the  count  is  a  traveller 
who  came  down  with  us  in  Pierrotin's  concern  ;  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  the  politeness  of  a  young  man  he  'd 
have  come  as  a  rabbit." 

"A  rabbit!  in  Pierrotin's  concern!"  exclaimed 
Moreau  and  the  poultry-girl  together. 


A  Start  in  Life.  149 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  from  what  this  girl  is  now  saying," 
said  Georges. 

"How  so?"  asked  the  steward. 

"Ah!  that 's  the  point,"  cried  the  clerk.  "To  hoax 
the  travellers  and  have  a  bit  of  fun  1  told  them  a  lot  of 
stuff  about  Egypt  and  Greece  and  Spain.  As  I  hap- 
pened to  be  wearing  spurs  I  gave  myself  out  for  a 
colonel  of  cavalry;  pure  nonsense!  " 

"Tell  me,"  said  Moreau,  "what  did  this  traveller 
you  take  to  be  Monsieur  le  comte  look  like?" 

"Face  like  a  brick,"  said  Georges,  "hair  snow-white, 
and  black  eyebrows." 

"That  is  he!" 

"Then  I  'm  lost!  "  exclaimed  Georges. 

"Why?" 

"Oh!    I  chaffed  him  about  his  decorations." 

"Pooh!  he 's  a  good  fellow;  you  probably  amused 
him.  Come  at  once  to  the  chateau.  I  '11  go  in  and  see 
his  Excellency.  Where  did  you  say  he  left  the 
coach?" 

"At  the  top  of  the  mountain." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it!  " 
After  all,"  thought  Georges,  "though  I  did  blague 
him,  I  didn't  say  anything  insulting." 

"Why  have  you  come  here?"  asked  the  steward. 

"I  have  brought  the  deed  of  sale  for  the  farm  at 
Mouliueaux,  all  ready  for  signature." 


150  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  the  steward,  "I  don't 
understand  one  word  of  all  this !  " 

Moreau  felt  his  heart  beat  painfully  when,  after 
giving  two  raps  on  his  master's  door,  he  heard  the 
words :  — 

"Is  that  you,  Monsieur*  Moreau?" 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

"Come  in." 

The  count  was  now  wearing  a  pair  of  white  trou- 
sers and  thin  boots,  a  white  waistcoat  and  a  black  coat 
on  which  shone  the  grand  cross  of  the  Legion  upon  the 
right  breast,  and  fastened  to  a  buttonhole  on  the  left  was 
the  order  of  the  Golden  Fleece  hanging  by  a  short  gold 
chain.  He  had  arranged  his  hair  himself,  and  had,  no 
doubt,  put  himself  in  full  dress  to  do  the  honors  of 
Presles  to  Monsieur  Margueron;  and,  possibly,  to 
impress  the  good  man's  mind  with  a  prestige  of 
grandeur. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  said  the  count,  who  remained 
seated,  leaving  Moreau  to  stand  before  him.  "We 
have  not  concluded  that  purchase  from  Margueron." 

"He  asks  too  much  for  the  farm  at  the  present 
moment." 

"But  why  is  he  not  coming  to  dinner  as  I  re- 
quested ?  " 

"Monseigneur,  he  is  ill." 

"Are  you  sure?" 


A  Start  in  Life.  151 

"I  have  just  come  from  there." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  count,  with  a  stern  air  which 
was  really  terrible,  "what  would  you  do  with  a  man 
whom  you  trusted,  if,  after  seeing  you  dress  wounds 
which  you  desired  to  keep  secret  from  all  the  world, 
he  should  reveal  your  misfortunes  and  laugh  at  your 
malady  with  a  strumpet?" 

"I  would  thrash  him  for  it." 

"And  if  you  discovered  that  he  was  also  betraying 
your  confidence  and  robbing  you?" 

"I  should  endeavor  to  detect  him,  and  send  him  to 
the  galleys." 

"Monsieur  Moreau,  listen  to  me.  You  have  un- 
doubtedly spoken  of  my  infirmities  to  Madame  Clapart; 
you  have  laughed  at  her  house,  and  with  her,  over  my 
attachment  to  the  Comtesse  de  Serizy;  for  her  son, 
little  Husson,  told  a  number  of  circumstances  relating 
to  my  medical  treatment,  to  travellers  by  a  public 
conveyance  in  my  presence,  and  Heaven  knows  in 
what  language!  He  dared  to  calumniate  my  wife. 
Besides  this,  I  learned  from  the  lips  of  Pere  Le'ger 
himself,  who  was  in  the  coach,  of  the  plan  laid  by  the 
notary  at  Beaumont  and  by  you  and  by  himself  in 
relation  to  Les  Moulineaux.  If  you  have  been,  as  you 
say,  to  Monsieur  Margueron,  it  was  to  tell  him  to  feign 
illness.  He  is  so  little  ill  that  he  is  coming  here  to 
dinner  this  evening.     Now,  monsieur,  I  could  pardon 


152  A  Start  in  Life. 

your  having  made  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs  out  of  your  situation  in  seventeen  years,  —  I 
can  understand  that.  You  might  each  time  have 
asked  me  for  what  you  took,  and  I  would  have  given 
it  to  you;  but  let  that  pass.  You  have  been,  notwith- 
standing this  disloyalty,  better  than  others,  as  I  be- 
lieve. But  that  you,  who  knew  my  toil  for  our  coun- 
try, for  France,  you  have  seen  me  giving  night  after 
night  to  the  Emperor's  service,  and  working  eighteen 
hours  of  each  twenty-four  for  months  together,  you  who 
knew  my  love  for  Madame  de  Serizy,  —  that  you  should 
have  gossiped  about  me  before  a  boy!  holding  up  my 
secrets  and  my  affections  to  the  ridicule  of  a  Madame 
Husson!  —  " 

"  Monseigneur ! " 

"It  is  unpardonable.  To  injure  a  man's  interest, 
why,  that  is  nothing;  but  to  stab  his  heart!  —  Oh! 
you  do  not  know  what  you  have  done !  " 

The  count  put  his  head  in  his  hands  and  was  silent 
for  some  moments. 

"I  leave  you  what  you  have  gained,"  he  said  after  a 
time,  "and. I  shall  forget  you.  For  my  sake,  for  my 
dignity,  and  for  your  honor,  we  will  part  decently; 
for  I  cannot  but  remember  even  now  what  your  father 
did  for  mine.  You  will  explain  the  duties  of  the 
stewardship  in  a  proper  manner  to  Monsieur  de  Rey- 
bert,  who  succeeds  you.     Be  calm,  as  I  am.     Give  no 


A  Start  in  Life.  153 

opportunity  for  fools  to  talk.  Above  all,  let  there  be 
no  recrimination  or  petty  meanness.  Though  you  no 
longer  possess  my  confidence,  endeavor  to  behave  with 
the  decorum  of  well-bred  persons.  As  for  that  miser- 
able boy  who  has  wounded  me  to  death,  I  will  not  have 
him  sleep  at  Presles;  send  him  to  the  inn;  I  will  not 
answer  for  my  own  temper  if  I  see  him." 

"I  do  not  deserve  such  gentleness,  monseigneur," 
said  Moreau,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "Yes,  you  are 
right;  if  I  had  been  utterly  dishonest  I  should  now  be 
worth  five  hundred  thousand  francs  instead  of  half 
that  sum.  I  offer  to  give  you  an  account  of  my  for- 
tune, with  all  its  details.  But  let  me  tell  you,  mon- 
seigneur, that  in  talking  of  you  with  Madame  Clapart, 
it  was  never  in  derision ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  de- 
plore your  state,  and  to  ask  her  for  certain  remedies, 
not  used  by  physicians,  but  known  to  the  common 
people.  I  spoke  of  your  feelings  before  the  boy,  who 
was  in  his  bed  and,  as  I  supposed,  asleep  (it  seems  he 
must  have  been  awake  and  listening  to  us),  with  the 
utmost  affection  and  respect.  Alas!  fate  wills  that 
indiscretions  be  punished  like  crimes.  But  while 
accepting  the  results  of  your  just  anger,  I  wish  you  to 
know  what  actually  took  place  It  was,  indeed,  from 
heart  to  heart  that  I  spoke  of  you  to  Madame  Clapart. 
As  for  my  wife,  I  have  never  said  one  word  of  these 
things  —  " 


154  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Enough,"  said  the  count,  whose  conviction  was 
now  complete;  "we  are  not  children.  All  is  now  irrev- 
ocable. Put  your  affairs  and  mine  in  order.  You 
can  stay  in  the  pavilion  until  October.  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Reybert  will  lodge  for  the  present  in  the 
chateau;  endeavor  to  keep  on  terms  with  them,  like 
well-bred  persons  who  hate  each  other,  i)ut  still  keep 
up  appearances." 

The  count  and  Moreau  went  downstairs;  Moreau 
white  as  the  count's  hair,  the  count  himself  calm  and 
dignified. 

During  the  time  this  interview  lasted  the  Beaumont 
coach,  which  left  Paris  at  one  o'clock,  had  stopped 
before  the  gates  of  the  chateau,  and  deposited  Maitre 
Crottat,  the  notary,  who  was  shown,  according  to  the 
count's  orders,  into  the  salon,  where  he  found  his  clerk, 
extremely  subdued  in  manner,  and  the  two  painters, 
all  three  of  them  painfully  self-conscious  and  embar- 
rassed. Monsieur  de  Reybert,  a  man  of  fifty,  with  a 
crabbed  expression  of  face,  was  also  there,  accom- 
panied by  old  Margueron  and  the  notary  of  Beaumont, 
who  held  in  his  hand  a  bundle  of  deeds  and  other 
papers. 

When  these  various  personages  saw  the  count  in 
evening  dress,  and  wearing  his  orders,  Georges  Marest 
had  a  slight  sensation  of  colic,  Joseph  Bridau  quiv- 
ered, but  Mistigris,   who  was   conscious  of  being  in 


A  Start  in  Life.  155 

his  Sunday  clotbes,  and  had,  moreover,  nothing  on  his 
conscience,  remarked,  in  a  sufficiently  loud  tone:  — 

"Well,  he  looks  a  great  deal  better  like  that." 

"Little  scamp,"  said  the  count,  catching  him  by  the 
ear,  "we  are  both  in  the  decoration  business.  I  hope 
you  recognize  your  own  work,  my  dear  Schinner," 
he  added,  pointing  to  the  ceiling  of  the  salon. 

"Monseigneur,"  replied  the  artist,  "I  did  wrong  to 
take  such  a  celebrated  name  out  of  mere  bravado;  but 
this  day  will  oblige  me  to  do  fine  things  for  you,  and 
so  bring  credit  on  my  own  name  of  Joseph  Bridau." 

"You  took  up  my  defence,"  said  the  count,  hastily; 
"and  I  hope  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  dining 
with  me,  as  well  as  my  lively  friend  Mistigris." 

"Your  Excellency  does  n't  know  to  what  you  expose 
yourself,"  said  the  saucy  rapin;  "  *  facilis  descensus 
victual i,'  as  we  say  at  the  Black  Hen." 

"Bridau!"  exclaimed  the  minister,  struck  by  a  sud- 
den thought.  "Are  you  any  relation  to  one  of  the  most 
devoted  toilers  under  the  Empire,  the  head  of  a  bureau, 
who  fell  a  victim  to  his  zeal?" 

"His  son,  monseigneur,"  replied  Joseph,  bowing. 

"Then  you  are  most  welcome  here,"  said  the  count, 
taking  Bridau's  hand  in  both  of  his.  "I  knew  your 
father,  and  you  can  count  on  me  as  on  —  on  an  uncle 
in  America,"  added  the  count,  laughing.  "But  you  are 
too  young  to  have  pupils  of  your  own;  to  whom  does 
Mistigris  really  belong?" 


156  A  Start  in  Life. 

"To  my  friend  Schinner,  who  lent  him  to  me,"  said 
Joseph.  "Mistigris'  name  is  Leon  de  Lora.  Mon- 
seigneur,  if  you  knew  my  father,  will  you  deign  to 
think  of  his  other  son,  who  is  now  accused  of  plotting 
against  the  State,  and  is  soon  to  be  tried  before  the 
Court  of  Peers  ?" 

"Ah!  that's  true,"  said  the  count.  "Yes,  I  will 
think  about  it,  be  sure  of  that.  As  for  Colonel  Czerni- 
Georges,  the  friend  of  Ali  Pacha,  and  Mina's  aide-de- 
camp—  "  he  continued,  walking  up  to  Georges. 

"He!  why  that's  my  second  clerk!  "  cried  Crottat. 

"You  are  quite  mistaken,  Maftre  Crottat,"  said  the 
count,  assuming  a  stern  air.  "A  clerk  who  intends  to 
be  a  notary  does  not  leave  important  deeds  in  a  dili- 
gence at  the  mercy  of  other  travellers;  neither  does 
he  spend  twenty  francs  between  Paris  and  Moisselles ; 
or  expose  himself  to  be  arrested  as  a  deserter  —  " 

"Monseigneur,"  said  Georges  Marest,  "I  may  have 
amused  myself  with  the  bourgeois  in  the  diligence, 
but  —  " 

"Let  his  Excellency  finish  what  he  was  saying,"  said 
the  notary,  digging  his  elbow  into  his  clerk's  ribs. 

"A  notary,"  continued  the  count,  "ought  to  practise 
discretion,  shrewdness,  caution  from  the  start;  he 
should  be  incapable  of  such  a  blunder  as  taking  a  peer 
of  France  for  a  tallow-chandler  —  " 

"I  am  willing  to  be  blamed  for  my  faults,"  said 


A  Start  in  Life.  157 

Georges;  "but  I  never  left  my  deeds  at  the  mercy 
of  —  " 

"Now  you  are  committing  the  fault  of  contradicting 
the  word  of  a  minister  of  State,  a  gentleman,  an  old 
man,  and  a  client,"  said  the  count.  "Give  me  that 
deed  of  sale." 

Georges  .turned  over  and  over  the  papers  in  his 
portfolio. 

"That  will  do;  don't  disarrange  those  papers," 
said  the  count,  taking  the  deed  from  his  pocket. 
"Here  is  what  you  are  looking  for." 

Crottat  turned  the  paper  back  and  forth,  so  aston- 
ished was  he  at  receiving  it  from  the  hands  of  his 
client. 

"What  does  this  mean,  monsieur?"  he  said,  finally, 
to  Georges. 

"If  I  had  not  taken  it,"  said  the  count,  "Pere  Leger, 
—  who  is  by  no  means  such  a  ninny  as  you  thought  him 
from  his  questions  about  agriculture,  by  which  he 
showed  that  he  attended  to  his  own  business,  —  Pere 
Leger  might  have  seized  that  paper  and  guessed  my 
purpose.  You  must  give  me  the  pleasure  of  dining 
with  me,  but  on  one  condition, — that  of  describing, 
as  you  promised,  the  execution  of  the  Muslim  of 
Smyrna,  and  you  must  also  finish  the  memoirs  of 
some  client  which  you  have  certainly  read  to  be  so 
well  informed." 


158  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Schlapue  for  blague/"  said  Leon  de  Lora,  in  a 
whisper,  to  Joseph  Bridau. 

''Gentlemen,"  said  the  count  to  the  two  notaries  and 
Messieurs  Margueron  and  de  Reybert,  "let  us  go  into 
the  next  room  and  conclude  this  business  before  din- 
ner, because,  as  my  friend  Mistigris  would  say :  '  Qui 
esurit  consentit.1  " 

"Well,  he  is  very  good-natured,"  said  Leon  de  Lora 
to  Georges,  Mar  est,  when  the  count  had  left  the  room. 

"Yes,  he  may  be,  but  my  master  isn't,"  said 
Georges,  "and  he  will  request  me  to  go  and  blaguer 
somewhere  else." 

"Never  mind,  you  like  travel,"  said  Bridau. 

"What  a  dressing  that  boy  will  get  from  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Moreau!  "  cried  Mistigris. 

"Little  idiot!"  said  Georges.  "If  it  had  n't  been 
for  him  the  count  would  have  been  amused.  Well, 
anyhow,  the  lesson  is  a  good  one;  and  if  ever  again 
I  am  caught  bragging  in  a  public  coach  —  " 

"It  is  a  stupid  thing  to  do,"  said  Joseph  Bridau. 

"And  common,"  added  Mistigris.  "  'Vulgarity  is 
the  brother  of  pretension. '  " 

While  the  matter  of  the  sale  was  being  settled  be- 
tween Monsieur  Margueron  and  the  Comte  de  Serizy, 
assisted  by  their  respective  notaries  in  presence  of 
Monsieur  de  Reybert,  the  ex-steward  walked  with 
slow  steps  to  his  own   house.     There  he  entered  the 


A  Start  in  Life.  159 

salon  and  sat  down  without  noticing  anything.  Little 
Husson,  who  was  present,  slipped  into  a  corner,  out 
of  sight,  so  much  did  the  livid  face  of  his  mother's 
friend  alarm  him. 

44 Eh!  my  friend!"  said  Estelle,  coming  into  the 
room,  somewhat  tired  with  what  she  had  been  doing. 
Wk\Vhat  is  the  matter?" 

"My  dear,  we  are  lost, — lost  beyond  recovery.  I 
am  no  longer  steward  of  Presles,  no  longer  in  the 
count's  confidence." 

44 Why  not?" 

"Pere  Leger,  who  was  in  Pierrotin's  coach,  told  the 
count  all  about  the  affair  of  Lcs  Moulineaux.  But 
that  is  not  the  thing  that  has  cost  me  his  favor." 

44 What,  then?" 

44  Oscar  spoke  ill  of  the  countess,  and  he  told  about 
the  count's  diseases." 

"Oscar!"  cried  Madame  Moreau.  44Ah!  my  dear, 
your  sin  has  found  you  out.  It  was  well  worth  while 
to  warm  that  young  serpent  in  your  bosom.  How 
often  I  have  told  you  —  " 

"Enough!  "  said  Moreau,  in  a  strained  voice. 

At  this  moment  Estelle  and  her  husband  discovered 
Oscar  cowering  in  his  corner.  Moreau  swooped  down 
on  the  luckless  lad  like  a  hawk  on  its  prey,  took  him 
by  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  dragged  him  to  the  light 
of  a  window.     "Speak!  what  did   you   say  to  mon- 


160  A  Start  in  Life. 

seigneur  in  that  coach?  What  demon  let  loose  your 
tongue,  you  who  keep  a  doltish  silence  whenever  I 
speak  to  you?  What  did  you  do  it  for?"  cried  the 
steward,  with  frightful  violence. 

Too  bewildered  to  weep,  Oscar  was  dumb  and  motion- 
less as  a  statue. 

"Come  with  me  and  beg  his  Excellency's  pardon," 
said  Moreau. 

"As  if  his  Excellency  cares  for  a  little  toad  like 
that !  "  cried  the  furious  Estelle. 

"Come,  I  say,  to  the  chateau,"  repeated  Moreau. 

Oscar  dropped  like  an  inert  mass  to  the  ground. 

"Come!"  cried  Moreau,  his  anger  increasing  at 
every  instant. 

"No!  no!  mercy!"  cried  Oscar,  who  could  not  bring 
himself  to  submit  to  a  torture  that  seemed  to  him 
worse  than  death. 

Moreau  then  took  the  lad  by  his  coat,  and  dragged 
him,  as  he  might  a  dead  body,  through  the  yards, 
which  rang  with  the  boy's  outcries  and  sobs.  He 
pulled  him  up  the  portico,  and,  with  an  arm  that  fury 
made  powerful,  he  flung  him,  bellowing,  and  rigid  as 
a  pole,  into  the  salon,  at  the  very  feet  of  the  count, 
who,  having  completed  the  purchase  of  Les  Mouli- 
neaux,  was  about  to  leave  the  salon  for  the  dining- 
room  with  his  guests. 

"On  your  knees,  wretched  boy!  and  ask  pardon  of 


A  Start  in  Life.  161 

him  who  gave  food  to  your  mind  by  obtaining  your 
scholarship." 

Oscar,  his  face  to  the  ground,  was  foaming  with 
rage,  and  did  not  say  a  word.  The  spectators  of  the 
scene  were  shocked.  Moreau  seemed  no  longer  in  his 
senses;  his  face  was  crimson  with  injected  blood. 

"This  young  man  is  a  mere  lump  of  vanity,"  said 
the  count,  after  waiting  a  moment  for  Oscar's  excuses. 
"A  proud  man  humiliates  himself  because  he  sees 
there  is  grandeur  in  a  certain  self-abasement.  1  am 
afraid  that  you  will  never  make  much  of  that  lad." 

So  saying,  his  Excellency  passed  on.  Moreau  took 
Oscar  home  with  him;  and  on  the  way  gave  orders 
that  the  horses  should  immediately  be  put  to  Madame 
Moreau 's  caliche. 


11 


1G2  A  Start  in  Life. 


VII. 


A   MOTHER  S   TRIALS. 

While   the   horses  were  being   harnessed,  Moreau 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  Madame  Clapart :  — 

My  dear,  —  Oscar  has  ruined  me.  During  his  journey  in 
Pierrotin's  coach,  he  spoke  of  Madame  de  Serizy's  behavior 
to  his  Excellency,  who  was  travelling  incognito,  and  ac- 
tually told,  to  himself,  the  secret  of  his  terrible  malady. 
After  dismissing  me  from  my  stewardship,  the  count  told 
me  not  to  let  Oscar  sleep  at  Presles,  but  to  send  him  away 
immediately.  Therefore,  to  obey  his  orders,  the  horses  are 
being  harnessed  at  this  moment  to  my  wife's  carriage,  and 
Brochon,  my  stable-man,  will  take  the  miserable  child  to 
you  to-night. 

We  are,  my  wife  and  I,  in  a  distress  of  mind  which  you 
may  perhaps  imagine,  though  I  cannot  describe  it  to  you. 
I  will  see  you  in  a  few  days,  for  I  must  take  another  course. 
I  have  three  children,  and  I  ought  to  consider  their  future. 
At  present  I  do  not  know  what  to  do ;  but  I  shall  certainly 
endeavor  to  make  the  count  aware  of  what  seventeen  years 
of  the  life  of  a  man  like  myself  is  worth.  Owning  at  the 
present  moment  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs,  I  want  to  raise  myself  to  a  fortune  which  may  some 
day  make  me  the  equal  of  his  Excellency.  At  this  moment 
I  feel  within  me  the  power  to  move  mountains  and  van- 


A  Start  in  Life.  163 

quish  insurmountable  difficulties.  What  a  lever  is  such 
a  scene  of  bitter  humiliation  as  I  have  just  passed  through  ! 
Whose  blood  has  Oscar  in  his  veins?  His  conduct  has  been 
that  of  a  blockhead;  up  to  this  moment  when  I  write  to 
you,  he  has  not  said  a  word  nor  answered,  even  by  a  sign, 
the  questions  my  wife  and  I  have  put  to  him.  Will  he 
become  an  idiot?  or  is  he  one  already?  Dear  friend,  why 
did  you  not  instruct  him  as  to  his  behavior  before  you 
sent  him  to  me  ?  How  many  misfortunes  you  would  have 
spared  me,  had  you  brought  him  here  yourself  as  I  begged 
you  to  do.  If  Estelle  alarmed  you,  you  might  have  stayed 
at  Moisselles.  However,  the  thing  is  done,  and  there  is  no 
use  talking  about  it. 

Adieu;   I  shall  see  you  soon. 

Your  devoted  servant  and  friend, 

MOREAU. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  Madame  Clapart,  just 
returned  from  a  walk  she  had  taken  with  her  husband, 
was  knitting  winter  socks  for  Oscar,  by  the  light  of 
a  single  candle.  Monsieur  Clapart  was  expecting  a 
friend  named  Poiret,  who  often  came  in  to  play  dom- 
inoes, for  never  did  he  allow  himself  to  spend  an  even- 
ing at  a  cafe\  In  spite  of  the  prudent  economy  to 
which  his  small  means  forced  him,  Clapart  would  not 
have  answered  for  his  temperance  amid  a  luxury  of 
food  and  in  presence  of  the  usual  guests  of  a  cafe 
whose  inquisitive  observation  would  have  piqued  him. 

fct  I  'm  afraid  Poiret  came  while  we  were  out,"  said 
Clapart  to  his  wife. 


164  A  Start  in  Life. 

"  Why,  no,  my  friend ;  the  portress  would  have  told 
us  so  when  we  came  in,"  replied  Madame  Clapart. 

44  She  may  have  forgotten  it." 

4 k  What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  she  has  forgotten 
things  for  us,  —  for  God  knows  how  people  without 
means  are  treated." 

k  44  Well,"  said  the  poor  woman,  to  change  the  con- 
versation and  escape  Clapart's  cavilling,  "  Oscar  must 
be  at  Presles  by  this  time.  How  he  will  enjoy  that 
fine  house  and  the  beautiful  park." 

44  Oh  !  yes,"  snarled  Clapart,  'kyou  expect  fine  things 
of  him;  but,  mark  my  words,  there  '11  be  squabbles  wher- 
ever he  goes." 

44  Will  you  never  cease  to  find  fault  with  that  poor 
child?  "  said  the  mother.  44  What  has  he  done  to  you? 
If  some  day  we  should  live  at  our  ease,  we  may  owe 
it  all  to  him ;  he  has  such  a  good  heart  —  " 

44  Our  bones  will  be  jelly  long  before  that  fellow 
makes  his  way  in  the  world,"  cried  Clapart.  44You 
don't  know  your  own  child ;  he  is  conceited,  boastful, 
deceitful,  laz}',  incapable  of —  " 

44  Why  don't  you  go  to  meet  Poiret?  "  said  the  poor 
mother,  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  diatribe  she  had 
brought  upon  herself. 

44  A  boy  who  has  never  won  a  prize  at  school!" 
continued  Clapart. 


A  Start  in  Life.  165 

To  bourgeois  eyes,  the  obtaining  of  school  prizes 
menus  the  certainty  of  a  fine  future  for  the  fortunate 
child. 

"Did  you  win  any?"  asked  his  wife.  "  Oscar  stood 
second  in  philosophy." 

This  remark  imposed  silence  for  a  moment  on 
Clapart;   but  presently  he  began  again. 

"  Besides,  Madame  Moreau  hates  him  like  poison, 
you  know  why.  She  '11  try  to  set  her  husband  against 
him.  Oscar  to  step  into  his  shoes  as  steward  of 
Presles !  Why  he  'd  have  to  learn  agriculture,  and 
know  how  to  survey." 

44  He  can  learn." 

44  He  —  that  puss}'-cat!  I'll  bet  that  if  he  does  get 
a  place  down  there,  it  won't  be  a  week  before  he  does 
some  doltish  thing  which  will  make  the  count  dismiss 
him." 

41  Good  God!  how  can  you  be  so  bitter  against  a 
poor  child  who  is  full  of  good  qualities,  sweet-tempered 
as  an  angel,  incapable  of  doing  harm  to  any  one,  no 
matter  who." 

Just  then  the  cracking  of  a  postilion's  whip  and  the 
noise  of  a  carriage  stopping  before  the  house  was 
heard,  this  arrival  having  apparently  put  the  whole 
street  into  a  commotion.  Clapart,  who  heard  the  open- 
ing of  many  windows,  looked  out  himself  to  see  what 
was  happening. 


166  A  Start  in  Life. 

"  They  have  sent  Oscar  back  to  you  in  a  post-chaise," 
he  cried,  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction,  though  in  truth  he 
felt  inwardly  uneasy. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  can  have  happened  to  him?  " 
cried  the  poor  mother,  trembling  like  a  leaf  shaken  by 
the  autumn  wind. 

Brochon  here  came  up,  followed  by  Oscar  and 
Poiret. 

"What  has  happened?"  repeated  the  mother,  ad- 
dressing the  stable-man. 

" 1  don't  know ;  but  Monsieur  Moreau  is  no  longer 
steward  of  Presles,  and  they  sa}'  your  son  has  caused 
it.  His  Excellency  ordered  that  he  should  be  sent 
home  to  you.  Here 's  a  letter  from  poor  Monsieur 
Moreau,  madame,  which  will  tell  you  all.  You  never 
saw  a  man  so  changed  in  a  single  da}-." 

"  Clapart,  two  glasses  of  wine  for  the  postilion  and 
for  monsieur!"  cried  the  mother,  flinging  herself  into 
a  chair  that  she  might  read  the  fatal  letter.  "  Oscar," 
she  said,  staggering  towards  her  bed,  "  do  you  want  to 
kill  your  mother?  After  all  the  cautions  that  I  gave 
you  this  morning  —  " 

She  did  not  end  her  sentence,  for  she  fainted  from 
distress  of  mind.  When  she  came  to  herself  she  heard 
her  husband  saying  to  Oscar,  as  he  shook  him  by  the 
arm :  — 

' '  Will  you  answer  me?" 


A  Start  in  Life.  167 

M  Go  to  bed,  monsieur,"  she  said  to  her  son.  "  Let 
him  alone,  Monsieur  Clapart.  Don't  drive  him  out  of 
his  senses  ;  he  is  frightfully  changed. " 

Oscar  did  not  hear  his  mother's  last  words ;  he  had 
slipped  away  to  bed  the  instant  that  he  got  the  order. 

Those  who  remember  their  youth  will  not  be  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  after  a  day  so  filled  with  events 
and  emotions,  Oscar,  in  spite  of  the  enormit}r  of  his 
offences,  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just.  The  next  day  he 
did  not  find  the  world  so  changed  as  he  thought  it ;  he 
was  surprised  to  be  very  hungry,  —  he  who  the  night 
before  had  regarded  himself  as  unworthy  to  live.  He 
had  onty  suffered  mentally.  At  his  age  mental  im- 
pressions succeed  each  other  so  rapidly  that  the  last 
weakens  its  predecessor,  however  deeply  the  first  may 
have  been  cut  in.  For  this  reason  corporal  punish- 
ment, though  philanthropists  are  deeply  opposed  to  it 
in  these  days,  becomes  necessary  in  certain  cases  for 
certain  children.  It  is,  moreover,  the  most  natural 
form  of  retribution,  for  Nature  herself  employs  it ;  she 
uses  pain  to  impress  a  lasting  memory  of  her  precepts. 
If  to  the  shame  of  the  preceding  evening,  unhappily 
too  transient,  the  steward  had  joined  some  personal 
chastisement,  perhaps  the  lesson  might  have  been  com- 
plete. The  discernment  with  which  such  punishment 
needs  to  be  administered  is  the  greatest  argument 
against  it.  Nature  is  never  mistaken  ;  but  the  teacher 
is,  and  frequently. 


168  A  Start  in  Life. 

Madame  Clapart  took  pains  to  send  her  husband  out, 
so  that  she  might  be  alone  with  her  son  the  next  morn- 
ing. She  was  in  a  state  to  excite  pity.  Her  eyes, 
worn  with  tears ;  her  face,  weary  with  the  fatigue  of  a 
sleepless  night ;  her  feeble  voice,  —  in  short,  everything 
about  her  proved  an  excess  of  suffering  she  could  not 
have  borne  a  second  time,  and  appealed  to  sympathy. 

When  Oscar  entered  the  room  she  signed  to  him  to 
sit  down  beside  her,  and  reminded  him  in  a  gentle  but 
grieved  voice  of  the  benefits  they  had  so  constantly 
received  from  the  steward  of  Presles.  She  told  him 
that  they  had  lived,  especially  for  the  last  six  years, 
on  the  delicate  charity  of  Monsieur  Moreau  ;  and  that 
Monsieur  Clapart's  salaiy,  also  the  demi-bourse,  or 
scholarship,  by  which  he  (Oscar)  had  obtained  an 
education,  was  due  to  the  Comte  de  Serizj-.  Most  of 
this  would  now  cease.  Monsieur  Clapart,  she  said, 
had  no  claim  to  a  pension,  —  his  period  of  service  not 
being  long  enough  to  obtain  one.  On  the  day  when 
he  was  no  longer  able  to  keep  his  place,  what  would 
become  of  them? 

"For  myself,"  she  said,  "by  nursing  the  sick,  or 
living  as  housekeeper  in  some  great  family,  I  could 
support  m3'self  and  Monsieur  Clapart ;  but  j'ou,  Oscar, 
what  could  you  do?  You  have  no  means,  and  you 
must  earn  some,  for  you  must  live.  There  are  but  four 
careers  for  a  }'oung  man  like  you,  —  commerce,  govern- 


A  Start  in  Life.  169 

ment  employment,  the  licensed  professions,  or  military 
service.  All  forms  of  commerce  need  capital,  and  we 
have  none  to  give  you.  In  place  of  capital,  a  }*oung 
man  can  only  give  devotion  and  his  capacity.  But 
commerce  also  demands  the  utmost  discretion,  and 
your  conduct  yesterday  proves  that  you  lack  it.  To 
enter  a  government  office,  you  must  go  through  a  long 
probation  by  the  help  of  influence,  and  you  have  just 
alienated  the  only  protector  that  we  had,  —  a  most 
powerful  one.  Besides,  suppose  3*011  were  to  meet  with 
some  extraordinary  help,  by  which  a  young  man  makes 
his  way  promptly  either  in  business  or  in  the  public 
emplo}',  where  could  you  find  the  mone}'  to  live  and 
clothe  yourself  during  the  time  that  3*011  are  learning 
your  employment?" 

Here  the  mother  wandered,  like  other  women,  into 
wordy  lamentation :  What  should  she  do  now  to  feed 
the  family,  deprived  of  the  benefits  Moreau's  steward- 
ship had  enabled  him  to  send  her  from  Presles?  Oscar 
had  overthrown  his  benefactor's  prosperity  !  As  com- 
merce and  a  government  clerkship  were  now  impossible, 
there  remained  only  the  professions  of  notary  and  law- 
yer, either  barristers  or  solicitors,  and  sheriffs.  But 
for  those  he  must  stud}'  at  least  three  years,  and  pay 
considerable  sums  for  entrance  fees,  examinations,  cer- 
tificates, and  diplomas  ;  and  here  again  the  question  of 
maintenance  presented  itself. 


170  A  Start  in  Life. 

"  Oscar,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  "  in  you  I  had  put 
all  my  pride,  all  my  life.  In  accepting  for  myself  an 
unhappy  old  age,  I  fastened  my  eyes  on  30U  ;  I  saw 
you  with  the  prospect  of  a  fine  career,  and  I  imagined 
you  succeeding  in  it.  That  thought,  that  hope,  gave 
me  courage  to  face  the  privations  I  have  endured  for 
six  years  in  order  to  carry  you  through  school,  where 
you  have  cost  me,  in  spite  of  the  scholarship,  between 
seven  and  eight  hundred  francs  a  year.  Now  that  my 
hope  is  vanishing,  3'our  future  terrifies  me.  I  cannot 
take  one  penny  from  Monsieur  CI  apart' s  salary  for  my 
son.  What  can  3011  do?  You  are  not  strong  enough 
in  mathematics  to  enter  any  of  the  technical  schools ; 
and,  besides,  where  could  I  get  the  three  thousand 
francs  board- money  which  the37  exact?  This  is  life  as 
it  is,  m3r  child.  You  are  eighteen  ;  3-ou  are  strong. 
Enlist  in  the  arm3T ;  it  is  your  only  means,  that  I  can 
see,  to  earn  your  bread." 

Oscar  knew  as  3Tet  nothing  whatever  of  life.  Like 
all  children  who  have  been  kept  from  a  knowledge  of 
the  trials  and  poverty  of  the  home,  he  was  ignorant  of 
the  necessit3T  of  earning  his  living.  The  word  "  com- 
merce "  presented  no  idea  whatever  to  his  mind ; 
"  public  emplo3'ment "  said  almost  as  little,  for  he  saw 
no  results  of  it.  He  listened,  therefore,  with  a  sub- 
missive air,  which  he  tried  to  make  humble,  to  his 
mother's  exhortations,  but  the3T  were  lost  in  the  void, 


A  Start  in  Life.  Ill 

and  did  not  reach  his  mind.  Nevertheless,  the  word 
M  army,"  the  thought  of  being  a  soldier,  and  the  sight 
of  his  mother's  tears  did  at  last  make  him  cry.  No 
sooner  did  Madame  Clapart  see  the  drops  coursing 
down  his  cheeks  than  she  felt  herself  helpless,  and, 
like  most  mothers  in  such  cases,  she  began  the  pero- 
ration which  terminates  these  scenes,  —  scenes  in 
which  the}'  suffer  their  own  anguish  and  that  of  their 
children  also. 

44  Well,  Oscar,  promise  me  that  3011  will  be  more 
discreet  in  future,  —  that  you  will  not  talk  heedlessly 
any  more,  but  will  strive  to  repress  your  silly  vanity," 
et  cetera,  et  cetera. 

Oscar  of  course  promised  all  his  mother  asked  him 
to  promise,  and  then,  after  gently  drawing  him  to  her, 
Madame  Clapart  ended  by  kissing  him  to  console  him 
for  being  scolded. 

44  In  future,"  she  said,  "  you  will  listen  to  your 
mother,  and  will  follow  her  advice ;  for  a  mother  can 
give  nothing  but  good  counsel  to  her  child.  We  will 
go  and  see  your  uncle  Cardot ;  that  is  our  last  hope. 
Cardot  owed  a  great  deal  to  your  father,  who  gave  him 
his  sister,  Mademoiselle  Husson,  with  an  enormous 
dowry  for  those  days,  which  enabled  him  to  make  a 
large  fortune  in  the  silk  trade.  I  think  he  might,  per- 
haps, place  you  with  Monsieur  Camusot,  his  successor 
and  son-in-law,  in  the  rue  des  Bourdonnais.     But,  you 


172  A  Start  in  Life. 

■see,  your  uncle  Cardot  has  four  children.  He  gave  his 
establishment,  the  Cocon  d'Or,  to  his  eldest  daughter, 
Madame  Camusot ;  and  though  Camusot  has  millions, 
he  has  also  four  children  by  two  wives  ;  and,  besides, 
he  scarcety  knows  of  our  existence.  Cardot  has  mar- 
ried his  second  daughter,  Mariane,  to  Monsieur  Protez, 
of  the  firm  of  Protez  and  Chiffreville.  The  practice  of 
his  eldest  son,  the  notar}T,  cost  him  four  hundred  thou- 
sand francs ;  and  he  has  just  put  his  second  son, 
Joseph,  into  the  drug  business  of  Matifat.  So  you  see, 
your  uncle  Cardot  has  many  reasons  not  to  take  an 
interest  in  3-011,  whom  he  sees  only  four  times  a  }'ear. 
He  has  never  come  to  call  upon  me  here,  though  he 
was  ready  enough  to  visit  me  at  Madame  Mere's  when 
he  wanted  to  sell  his  silks  to  the  Emperor,  the  imperial 
highnesses,  and  all  the  great  people  at  court.  But  now 
the  Camusots  have  turned  ultras.  The  eldest  son  of 
Camusot' s  first  wife  married  a  daughter  of  one  of  the 
king's  ushers.  The  world  is  mighty  hump-backed  when 
it  stoops !  However,  it  was  a  clever  thing  to  do,  for 
the  Cocon  d'Or  has  the  custom  of  the  present  court  as 
it  had  that  of  the  Emperor.  But  to-morrow  we  will  go 
and  see  your  uncle  Cardot,  and  I  hope  that  you  will 
endeavor  to  behave  properly  ;  for,  as  I  said  before,  and 
I  repeat  it,  that  is  our  last  hope." 

Monsieur  Jean-Jer6me-Severin    Cardot   had    been   a 
widower  six  years.     As  head-clerk  of  the  Cocon  d'Or, 


A  Start  in  Life.  173 

one  of  the  oldest  firms  in  Paris,  he  hud  bought  the  es- 
tablishment in  1793,  at  a  time  when  the  heads  of  the 
house  were  ruined  by  the  maximum  ;  and  the  money  of 
Mademoiselle  Husson's  dowry  had  enabled  him  to  do 
this,  and  so  make  a  fortune  that  was  almost  colossal  in 
ten  years.  To  establish  his  children  richly  during  his 
lifetime,  he  had  conceived  the  idea  of  buying  an  annu- 
ity for  himself  and  his  wife  with  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  which  gave  him  an  income  of  thirty 
thousand  francs  a  year.  He  then  divided  his  capital 
into  three  shares  of  four  hundred  thousand  francs  each, 
which  he  gave  to  three  of  his  children,  —  the  Cocon 
d'Or,  given  to  his  eldest  daughter  on  her  marriage, 
being  the  equivalent  of  a  fourth  share.  Thus  the  wor- 
thy man,  who  was  now  nearly  seventy  years  old,  could 
spend  his  thirty  thousand  a  year  as  he  pleased,  without 
feeling  that  he  injured  the  prospects  of  his  children, 
all  finely  provided  for,  whose  attentions  and  proofs 
of  affection  were,  moreover,  not  prompted  by  self- 
interest. 

Uncle  Cardot  lived  at  Belleville,  in  one  of  the  first 
houses  above  the  Courtille.  He  there  occupied,  on  the 
first  floor,  an  apartment  overlooking  the  valle}'  of  the 
Seine,  with  a  southern  exposure,  and  the  exclusive 
enjoyment  of  a  large  garden,  for  the  sum  of  a  thousand 
francs  a  year.  He  troubled  himself  not  at  all  about  the 
three  or  four  other  tenants  of  the  same  vast  country- 


174  A  Start  in  Life, 

house.  Certain,  through  a  long  lease,  of  ending  his 
da3*s  there,  he  lived  rather  plainly,  served  by  an  .old 
cook  and  the  former  maid  of  the  late  Madame  Cardot, 
—  both  of  whom  expected  to  reap  an  annuity  of  some 
six  hundred  francs  apiece  on  the  old  man's  death. 
These  two  women  took  the  utmost  care  of  him,  and 
were  all  the  more  interested  in  doing  so  because  no 
one  was  ever  less  fussy  or  less  fault-finding  than  he. 
The  apartment,  furnished  b3T  the  late  Madame  Cardot, 
had  remained  in  the  same  condition  for  the  last  six 
years,  —  the  old  man  being  perfectly  contented  with  it. 
He  spent  in  all  not  more  than  three  thousand  francs  a 
year  there  ;  for  he  dined  in  Paris  five  days  in  the  week, 
and  returned  home  at  midnight  in  a  hackney-coach, 
which  belonged  to  an  establishment  at  Courtille.  The 
cook  had  only  her  master's  breakfast  to  provide  on 
those  days.  This  was  served  at  eleven  o'clock ;  after 
that  he  dressed  and  perfumed  himself,  and  departed  for 
Paris.  Usuahy,  a  bourgeois  gives  notice  in  the  house- 
hold if  he  dines  out ;  old  Cardot,  on  the  contrary,  gave 
notice  when  he  dined  at  home. 

This  little  old  man  —  fat,  rosy,  squat,  and  strong  — 
always  looked,  in  popular  speech,  as  if  he  had  stepped 
from  a  bandbox.  He  appeared  in  black  silk  stockings, 
breeches  of  pou-de-soie  (paduasoy),  a  white  pique 
waistcoat,  dazzling  shirt-front,  a  blue-bottle  coat,  violet 
silk  gloves,  gold  buckles  to  his  shoes  and  his  breeches, 


A  Start  in  Life.  175 

and,  lastly,  a  touch  of  powder  and  a  little  queue  tied 
with  black  ribbon.  His  face  was  remarkable  for  a 
pair  of  eyebrows  as  thick  as  bushes,  beneath  which 
sparkled  his  gray  eyes ;  and  for  a  square  nose,  thick 
and  long,  which  gave  him  somewhat  the  air  of  the 
abbes  of  former  times.  His  countenance  did  not  belie 
him.  Pere  Cardot  belonged  to  that  race  of  livel}7 
Gerontes  which  is  now  disappearing  rapidly,  though  it 
once  served  as  Turcarets  to  the  comedies  and  tales  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Uncle  Cardot  always  said 
M  Fair  lady,"  and  he  placed  in  their  carriages,  and 
otherwise  paid  attention  to  those  women  whom  he  saw 
without  protectors  ;  he  "  placed  himself  at  their  dispo- 
sition," as  he  said,  in  his  chivalrous  way. 

But  beneath  his  calm  air  and  his  snowy  poll  he  con- 
cealed an  old  age  almost  wholly  given  up  to  mere 
pleasure.  Among  men  he  openly  professed  epicure- 
anism, and  gave  himself  the  license  of  free  talk.  He 
had  seen  no  harm  in  the  devotion  of  his  son-in-law, 
Camusot,  to  Mademoiselle  Coralie,  for  he  himself  was 
secretly  the  Mecamas  of  Mademoiselle  Florentine,  the 
first  danseuse  at  the  Gaiete.  But  this  life  and  these 
opinions  never  appeared  in  his  own  home,  nor  in  his 
external  conduct  before  the  world.  Uncle  Cardot,  grave 
and  polite,  was  thought  to  be  somewhat  cold,  so  much 
did  he  affect  decorum  ;  a  devote  would  have  called  him 
a  hypocrite. 


176  A  Start  in  Life. 

The  worthy  old  gentleman  hated  priests ;  he  be- 
longed to  that  great  flock  of  ninnies  who  subscribed 
to  the  "  Constitutionnel,"  and  was  much  concerned 
about  "  refusals  to  bury."  He  adored  Voltaire,  though 
his  preferences  were  really  for  Piron,  Vade,  and  Colle. 
Naturally,  he  admired  Beranger,  whom  he  wittily  called 
the  "  grandfather  of  the  religion  of  Lisette."  His 
daughters,  Madame  Cainusot  and  Madame  Protez, 
and  his  two  sons  would,  to  use  a  popular  expression, 
have  been  flabbergasted  if  any  one  had  explained  to 
them  what  their  father  meant  by  "  singing  la  Mere 
Godichon." 

This  long-headed  parent  had  never  mentioned  his 
income  to  his  children,  who,  seeing  that  he  lived  in  a 
cheap  way,  reflected  that  he  had  deprived  himself  of 
his  property  for  their  sakes,  and,  therefore,  redoubled 
their  attentions  and  tenderness.  In  fact,  he  would 
sometimes  say  to  his  sons :  — 

"Don't  lose  your  property;  remember,  J  have  none 
to  leave  you."  \ 

Camusot,  in  whom  he  recognized  a  certain  likeness 
to  his  own  nature,  and  whom  he  liked  enough  to  make 
a  sharer  in  his  secret  pleasures,  alone  knew  of  the  thirty 
thousand  a  year  annuity.  But  Camusot  approved  of 
the  old  man's  ethics,  and  thought  that,  having  made  the 
happiness  of  his  children  and  nobly  fulfilled  his  duty 
by  them,  he  now  had  a  right  to  end  his  life  jovially. 


A  Start  in  Life.  Ill 

"Don't  you  see,  my  friend,"  said  the  former  master 
of  the  Cocon  d'Or,  "I  might  re-marry.  A  young 
woman  would  give  me  more  children.  Well,  Floren- 
tine doesn't  cost  me  what  a  wife  would;  neither  does 
she  bore  me;  and  she  won't  give  me  children  to  lessen 
your  property." 

Camusot  considered  that  Pere  Cardot  gave  expres- 
sion to  a  high  sense  of  family  duty  in  these  words; 
he  regarded  him  as  an  admirable  father-in-law. 

"He  knows,"  thought  he,  "how  to  unite  the  interests 
of  his  children  with  the  pleasures  which  old  age  natu- 
rally desires  after  the  worries  of  business  life." 

Neither  the  Cardots,  nor  the  Camusots,  nor  the 
Protez  knew  anything  of  the  ways  of  life  of  their  aunt 
Clapart.  The  family  intercourse  was  restricted  to  the 
sending  of  notes  off  aire  part  on  the  occasion  of  deaths 
and  marriages,  and  cards  at  the  New  Year.  The 
proud  Madame  Clapart  would  never  have  brought  her- 
self to  seek  them  were  it  not  for  Oscar's  interests,  and 
because  of  her  friendship  for  Moreau,  the  only  person 
who  had  been  faithful  to  her  in  misfortune.  She  had 
never  annoyed  old  Cardot  by  her  visits,  or  her  impor- 
tunities, but  she  held  to  him  as  to  a  hope,  and  always 
went  to  see  him  once  every  three  months  and  talked 
to  him  of  Oscar,  the  nephew  of  the  late  respectable 
Madame  Cardot;  and  she  took  the  boy  to  call  upon 
him   three  times  during  each  vacation.     At  each  of 

12 


178  A  Start  in  Life. 

these  visits  the  old  gentleman  had  given  Oscar  a  dinner 
at  the  Cadran-Bleu,  taking  him,  afterwards,  to  the 
Gaiete,  and  returning  him  safely  to  the  rue  de  la 
Cerisaie.  On  one  occasion,  having  given  the  boy  an 
entirely  new  suit  of  clothes,  he  added  the  silver  cup 
and  fork  and  spoon  required  for  his  school  outfit. 

Oscar's  mother  endeavored  to  impress  the  old  gentle- 
man with  the  idea  that  his  nephew  cherished  him,  and 
she  constantly  referred  to  the  cup  and  the  fork  and 
spoon  and  to  the  beautiful  suit  of  clothes,  though  noth- 
ing was  then  left  of  the  latter  but  the  waistcoat.  But 
such  little  arts  did  Oscar  more  harm  than  good  when 
practised  on  so  sly  an  old  fox  as  uncle  Cardot.  The 
latter  had  never  much  liked  his  departed  wife,  a  tall, 
spare,  red-haired  woman;  he  was  also  aware  of  the 
circumstances  of  the  late  Husson's  marriage  with 
Oscar's  mother,  and  without  in  the  least  condemning 
her,  he  knew  very  well  that  Oscar  was  a  posthumous 
child.  His  nephew,  therefore,  seemed  to  him  to  have 
no  claims  on  the  Cardot  family.  But  Madame  Clapart, 
like  all  women  who  concentrate  their  whole  being  into 
the  sentiment  of  motherhood,  did  not  put  herself  in 
Cardot' s  place  and  see  the  matter  from  his  point  of 
view;  she  thought  he  must  certainly  be  interested  in 
so  sweet  a  child,  who  bore  the  maiden  name  of  his  late 
wife. 

"Monsieur,"  said  old  Cardot's  maid-servant,  coming 


A  Start  in  Life.  179 

out  to  him  as  he  walked  about  the  garden  while 
awaiting  his  breakfast,  after  his  hairdresser  had  duly 
shaved  him  and  powdered  his  queue,  "the  mother  of 
your  nephew,  Oscar,  is  here." 

44 Good-day,  fair  lady,"  said  the  old  man,  bowing  to 
Madame  Clapart,  and  wrapping  his  white  pique 
dressing-gown  about  him.  "Hey,  hey!  how  this 
little  fellow  grows,"  he  added,  taking  Oscar  by  the 
ear. 

"He  has  finished  school,  and  he  regretted  so  much 
that  his  dear  uncle  was  not  present  at  the  distribution 
of  the  Henri  IV.  prizes,  at  which  he  was  named.  The 
name  of  Husson,  which,  let  us  hope,  he  will  bear  wor- 
thily, was  proclaimed  —  " 

"The  deuce  it  was!"  exclaimed  the  little  old  man, 
stopping  short.  Madame  Clapart,  Oscar,  and  he  were 
walking  along  a  terrace  flanked  by  oranges,  myrtles, 
and  pomegranates.     "And  what  did  he  get?" 

"The  fourth  rank  in  philosophy,"  replied  the  mother, 
proudly. 

"Oh!  oh!"  cried  uncle  Cardot,  "the  rascal  has  a 
good  deal  to  do  to  make  up  for  lost  time;  for  the  fourth 
rank  in  philosophy,  well,  it  isn't  Peru,  you  know! 
You  will  stay  and  breakfast  with  me?  "  he  added. 

44 We  are  at  your  orders,"  replied  Madame  Clapart. 
44 Ah!  my  dear  Monsieur  Cardot,  what  happiness  it  is 
for  fathers  and  mothers  when  their  children  make  a 


180  A  Start  in  Life. 

good  start  in  life!  In  this  respect  —  indeed,  in  all 
others,"  she  added,  catching  herself  up,  "you  are  one 
of  the  most  fortunate  fathers  I  have  ever  known. 
Under  your  virtuous  son-in-law  and  your  amiable 
daughter,  the  Cocon  d'Or  continues  to  be  the  greatest 
establishment  of  its  kind  in  Paris.  And  here  's  your 
eldest  son,  for  the  last  ten  years  at  the  head  of  a  fine 
practice  and  married  to  wealth.  And  you  have  such 
charming  little  granddaughters !  You  are,  as  it  were, 
the  head  of  four  great  families.  Leave  us,  Oscar;  go 
and  look  at  the  garden,  but  don't  touch  the  flowers." 

"Why,  he  's  eighteen  years  old!  "  said  uncle  Cardot, 
smiling  at  this  injunction,  which  made  an  infant  of 
Oscar. 

"Alas,  yes,  he  is  eighteen,  my  good  Monsieur  Car- 
dot  ;  and  after  bringing  him  so  far,  sound  and  healthy 
in  mind  and  body,  neither  bow-legged  nor  crooked, 
after  sacrificing  everything  to  give  him  an  education, 
it  would  be  hard  if  I  could  not  see  him  on  the  road  to 
fortune." 

"That  Monsieur  Moreau  who  got  him  the  scholar- 
ship will  be  sure  to  look  after  his  career,"  said  uncle 
Cardot,  concealing  his  hypocrisy  under  an  air  of 
friendly  good-humor. 

"Monsieur  Moreau  may  die,"  she  said.  "And  be- 
sides, he  has  quarrelled  irrevocably  with  the  Comte  de 
Serizy,  his  patron." 


A  Start  in  Life.  181 

"The  deuce  he  has!  Listen,  madame;  I  see  you  are 
about  to —  " 

•  Xo,  monsieur,"  said  Oscar's  mother,  interrupting 
the  old  man,  who,  out  of  courtesy  to  the  "fair  lady," 
repressed  his  annoyance  at  being  interrupted.  "Alas, 
you  do  not  know  the  miseries  of  a  mother  who,  for 
seven  years  past,  has  been  forced  to  take  a  sum  of  six 
hundred  francs  a  year  for  her  son's  education  from 
the  miserable  eighteen  hundred  francs  of  her  husband's 
salary.  Yes,  monsieur,  that  is  all  we  have  had  to  live 
upon.  Therefore,  what  more  can  I  do  for  my  poor 
Oscar?  Monsieur  Clapart  so  hates  the  child  that  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  keep  him  in  the  house.  A 
poor  woman,  alone  in  the  world,  am  I  not  right  to 
come  and  consult  the  only  relation  my  Oscar  has 
under  heaven?" 

"Yes,  you  are  right"  said  uncle  Cardot.  "You 
never  told  me  of  all  this  before." 

"Ah,  monsieur!"  replied  Madame  Clapart,  proudly, 
"you  were  the  last  to  whom  I  would  have  told  my 
wretchedness.  It  is  all  my  own  fault;  I  married  a 
man  whose  incapacity  is  almost  beyond  belief.  Yes, 
I  am,  indeed,  most  unhappy." 

"Listen  to  me,  madame,"  said  the  little  old  man, 
"and  don't  weep;  it  is  most  painful  to  me  to  see  a 
fair  lady  cry.  After  all,  your  son  bears  the  name  of 
Husson,  and  if  my  dear  deceased  wife  were  living  she 


182  A  Start  in  Life. 

would  wish  to  do  something  for  the  name  of  her  father 
and  of  her  brother  —  " 

"She  loved  her  brother,"  said  Oscar's  mother. 

"But  all  my  fortune  is  given  to  my  children,  who 
expect  nothing  from  me  at  my  death,"  continued  the 
old  man.  "  I  have  divided  among  them  the  millions 
that  I  had,  because  I  wanted  to  see  them  happy  and 
enjoying  their  wealth  during  my  lifetime.  I  have 
nothing  now  except  an  annuity;  and  at  my  age  one 
clings  to  old  habits.  Do  you  know  the  path  on  which 
you  ought  to  start  this  young  fellow  ?  "  he  went  on, 
after  calling  to  Oscar  and  taking  him  by  the  arm. 
"Let  him  study  law;  I'll  pay  the  costs.  Put  him  in 
a  lawyer's  office  and  let  him  learn  the  business  of 
pettifogging;  if  he  does  well,  if  he  distinguishes  him- 
self, if  he  likes  his  profession  and  I  am  still  alive, 
each  of  my  children  shall,  when  the  proper  time 
comes,  lend  him  a  quarter  of  the  cost  of  a  practice; 
and  I  will  be  security  for  him.  You  will  only  have  to 
feed  and  clothe  him.  Of  course  he  '11  sow  a  few  wild 
oats,  but  he'll  learn  life.  Look  at  me:  I  left  Lyon 
with  two  double  louis  which  my  grandmother  gave  me, 
and  walked  to  Paris;  and  what  am  T  now?  Fasting  is 
good  for  the  health.  Discretion,  honesty,  and  work, 
young  man,  and  you  '11  succeed.  There  's  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure  in  earning  one's  fortune;  and  if  a  man 
keeps  his  teeth  he  eats  what  he  likes  in  his  old  age,  and 


A  Start  in  Life.  183 

sings,  as  I  do,  4  La  Mere  Godichon.'      Remember  my 
words:  Honesty,  work,  discretion." 

uDo   you   hear   that,    Oscar?"    said    his    mother. 
"Your  uncle  sums  up  in  three  words  all  that  I  have 
been  saying  to  you.     You  ought  to  carve  the  last  word 
in  letters  of  fire  on  your  memory." 
,  "Oh,  I  have,"  said  Oscar. 

"Very  good, — then  thank  your  uncle;  didn't  you 
hear  him  say  he  would  take  charge  of  your  future? 
You  will  be  a  lawyer  in  Paris." 

"He  doesn't  see  the  grandeur  of  his  destiny,"  said 
the  little  old  man,  observing  Oscar's  apathetic  air. 
"Well,  he 's  just  out  of  school.  Listen,  I  'm  no 
talker,"  he  continued;  "but  I  have  this  to  say:  Re- 
member that  at  your  age  honesty  and  uprightness  are 
maintained  only  by  resisting  temptations;  of  which, 
in  a  great  city  like  Paris,  there  are  many  at  every 
step.  Live  in  your  mother's  home,  in  the  garret;  go 
straight  to  the  law-school;  from  there  to  your  lawyer's 
office;  drudge  night  and  day,  and  study  at  home. 
Become,  by  the  time  you  are  twenty-two,  a  second 
clerk ;  by  the  time  you  are  twenty-four,  head-clerk ;  be 
steady  and  you  will  win  all.  If,  moreover,  you 
should  n't  like  the  profession,  you  might  enter  the  oflice 
of  my  son  the  notary,  and  eventually  succeed  him. 
Therefore,  work,  patience,  discretion,  honesty,  —  those 
are  your  landmarks." 


184  A  Start  in  Life. 

"God  grant  that  you  may  live  thirty  years  longer  to 
see  your  fifth  child  realizing  all  we  expect  from  him," 
cried  Madame  Clapart,  seizing  uncle  Cardot's  hand 
and  pressing  it  with  a  gesture  that  recalled  her  youth. 

"Now  come  to  breakfast,"  replied  the  kind  old  man, 
leading  Oscar  by  the  ear. 

During  the  meal  uncle  Cardot  observed  his  nephew 
without  appearing  to  do  so,  and  soon  saw  that  the  lad 
knew  nothing  of  life. 

"Send  him  here  to  me  now  and  then,"  he  said  to 
Madame  Clapart,  as  he  bade  her  good-bye,  "and  I'll 
form  him  for  you." 

This  visit  calmed  the  anxieties  of  the  poor  mother, 
who  had  not  hoped  for  such  brilliant  success.  For 
the  next  fortnight  she  took  Oscar  to  walk  daily,  and 
watched  him  tyrannically.  This  brought  matters  to 
the  end  of  October.  One  morning  as  the  poor  house- 
hold was  breakfasting  on  a  salad  of  herring  and  let- 
tuce, with  milk  for  a  dessert,  Oscar  beheld  with  terror 
the  formidable  ex-steward,  who  entered  the  room  and 
surprised  this  scene  of  poverty. 

"We  are  now  living  in  Paris  —  but  not  as  we  lived 
at  Presles,"  said  Moreau,  wishing  to  make  known  to 
Madame  Clapart  the  change  in  their  relations  caused 
by  Oscar's  folly.  "I  shall  seldom  be  here  myself ;  for 
I  have  gone  into  partnership  with  Pere  Leger  and  Pere 
Margueron  of  Beaumont.     We  are  speculating  in  land, 


A  Start  in  Life.  185 

and  we  have  begun  by  purchasing  the  estate  of  Persan. 
J  am  the  head  of  the  concern,  which  has  a  capital  of 
a  million;  part  of  which  I  have  borrowed  on  my  own 
securities.  When  I  find  a  good  thing,  Pere  Leger  and 
I  examine  it;  my  partners  'have  each  a  quarter  and  I 
a  half  in  the  profits ;  but  I  do  nearly  all  the  work,  and 
for  that  reason  I  shall  be  constantly  on  the  road.  My 
wife  lives  here,  in  the  faubourg  du  Roule,  very  plainly. 
When  we  see  how  the  business  turns  out,  if  we  risk 
only  the  profits,  and  if  Oscar  behaves  himself,  we  may, 
perhaps,  employ  him." 

"Ah!  my  friend,  the  catastrophe  caused  by  my  poor 
boy's  heedlessness  may  prove  to  be  the  cause  of  your 
making  a  brilliant  fortune ;  for,  really  and  truly,  you 
were  burying  your  energy  and  your  capacity  at 
Presles." 

Madame  Clapart  then  went  on  to  relate  her  visit  to 
uncle  Cardot,  in  order  to  show  Moreau  that  neither  she 
nor  her  son  need  any  longer  be  a  burden  on  him. 

"He  is  right,  that  old  fellow,"  said  the  ex-steward. 
"We  must  hold  Oscar  in  that  path  with  an  iron  hand, 
and  he  will  end  as  a  barrister  or  a  notary.  But  he 
must  n't  leave  the  track ;  he  must  go  straight  through 
with  it.  Ha !  I  know  how  to  help  you. ,  The  legal 
business  of  land-agents  is  quite  important,  and  I  have 
heard  of  a  lawyer  who  has  just  bought  what  is  called  a 
litre  nu  ;  that  means  a  practice  without  clients.     He  is 


186  A  Start  in  Life. 

a  young  man,  hard  as  an  iron  bar,  eager  for  work, 
ferociously  active.  His  name  is  Desroches.  I  '11  offer 
him  our  business  on  condition  that  he  takes  Oscar  as 
a  pupil ;  and  I  '11  ask  him  to  let  the  boy  live  with  him 
at  nine  hundred  francs  a  year,  of  which  I  will  pay 
three,  so  that  your  son  will  cost  you  only  six  hundred 
francs,  without  his  living,  in  future.  If  the  boy  ever 
means  to  become  a  man  it  can  only  be  under  a  disci- 
pline like  that.  He  '11  come  out  of  that  office,  notary, 
solicitor,  or  barrister,  as  he  may  elect." 

"Come,  Oscar;  thank  our  kind  Monsieur  Moreau, 
and  don't  stand  there  like  a  stone  post.  All  young 
men  who  commit  follies  have  not  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  with  friends  who  still  take  an  interest  in  their 
career,  even  after  they  have  been  injured  by  them." 

"The  best  way  to  make  your  peace  with  me,"  said 
Moreau,  pressing  Oscar's  hand,  "is  to  work  now  with 
steady  application,  and  to  conduct  yourself  in  future 
properly." 


A  Start  in  Life.  187 


VIII. 

TRICKS    AND    FARCES    OF    THE    EMBRYO    LONG    ROBE. 

Ten  days  later,  Oscar  was  taken  by  Moreau  to 
Maitre  Desroches,  solicitor,  recently  established  in 
the  rue  de  Bethisy,  in  a  vast  apartment  at  the  end  of 
a  narrow  court-yard,  for  which  he  was  paying  a  rela- 
tively low  price. 

Desroches,  a  young  man  twenty-six  years  of  age, 
born  of  poor  parents,  and  brought  up  with  extreme 
severity  by  a  stern  father,  had  himself  known  the  con- 
dition in  which  Oscar  now  was.  Accordingly,  he  felt 
an  interest  in  him,  but  the  sort  of  interest  which  alone 
he  could  take,  checked  by  the  apparent  harshness  that 
characterized  him.  The  aspect  of  this  gaunt  young 
man,  with  a  muddy  skin  and  hair  cropped  like  a 
clothes-brush,  who  was  curt  of  speech  and  possessed  a 
piercing  eye  and  a  gloomy  vivaciousness,  terrified  the 
unhappy  Oscar. 

"We  work  here  day  and  night,"  said  the  lawyer, 
from  the  depths  of  his  armchair,  and  behind  a  table  on 
which  were  papers,  piled  up  like  Alps.  " Monsieur 
Moreau,  we  won't  kill  him ;  but  he  '11  have  to  go  at  our 
pace.     Monsieur  Godeschal !  "  he  called  out. 


188  A  Start  in  Life. 

Though  the  day  was  Sunday,  the  head-clerk  ap- 
peared, pen  in  hand. 

"Monsieur  Godeschal,  here's  the  pupil  of  whom  I 
spoke  to  you.  Monsieur  Moreau  takes  the  liveliest 
interest  in  him.  He  will  dine  with  us  and  sleep  in  the 
small  attic  next  to  your  chamber.  You  will  allot  the 
exact  time  it  takes  to  go  to  the  law-school  and  back, 
so  that  he  does  not  lose  five  minutes  on  the  way.  You 
will  see  that  he  learns  the  Code  and  is  proficient  in  his 
classes ;  that  is  to  say,  after  he  has  done  his  work  here, 
you  will  give  him  authors  to  read.  In  short,  he  is  to 
be  under  your  immediate  direction,  and  I  shall  keep 
an  eye  on  it.  They  want  to  make  him  what  you  have 
made  yourself,  a  capable  head-clerk,  against  the  time 
when  he  can  take  such  a  place  himself.  Go  with  Mon- 
sieur Godeschal,  my  young  friend;  he'll  show  you 
your  lodging,  and  you  can  settle  clown  in  it.  Did  you 
notice  Godeschal?"  continued  Desroches,  speaking  to 
Moreau.  "He  is  a  fellow  who,  like  me,  has  nothing. 
His  sister  Mariette,  the  famous  dansense,  is  laying  up 
her  money  to  buy  him  a  practice  in  ten  years.  My 
clerks  are  young  blades  who  have  nothing  but  their  ten 
fingers  to  rely  upon.  So  we  all,  my  five  clerks  and  I, 
work  as  hard  as  a  dozen  ordinary  fellows.  But  in  ten 
years  I  '11  have  the  finest  practice  in  Paris.  In  my 
office,  business  and  clients  are  a  passion,  and  that 's 
beginning  to  make  itself  felt.     I  took  Godeschal  from 


A  Start  in  Life.  189 

Derville,  where  he  was  only  just  made  second  clerk. 
He  gets  a  thousand  francs  a  year  from  me,  and  food 
and  lodging.  But  he's  worth  it;  he  is  indefatigable. 
I  love  him,  that  fellow!  He  has  managed  to  live,  as 
I  did  when  a  clerk,  on  six  hundred  francs  a  year. 
What  I  care  for  above  all  is  honesty,  spotless  integ- 
rity ;  and  when  it  is  practised  in  such  poverty  as  that, 
a  man's  a  man.  For  the  slightest  fault  of  that  kind  a 
clerk  leaves  my  office." 

uThe  lad  is  in  a  good   school,"   thought   Moreau. 

For  two  whole  years  Oscar  lived  in  the  rue  de 
Bethisy,  a  den  of  pettifogging;  for  if  ever  that  super- 
annuated expression  was  applicable  to  a  lawyer's 
office,  it  was  so  in  this  case.  Under  this  supervision, 
both  petty  and  able,  he  was  kept  to  his  regular  hours 
and  to  his  work  with  such  rigidity  that  his  life  in  the 
midst  of  Paris  was  that  of  a  monk. 

At  five  in  the  morning,  in  all  weathers,  Godeschal 
woke  up.  He  went  down  with  Oscar  to  the  oflioo, 
where  they  always  found  their  master  up  and  work- 
ing. Oscar  then  did  the  errands  of  the  office  and  pre- 
pared his  lessons  for  the  law-school,  —  and  prepared 
them  elaborately;  for  Godeschal,  and  frequently  Des- 
roches  himself,  pointed  out  to  their  pupil  authors  to  be 
looked  through  and  difficulties  to  overcome.  He  wu 
not  allowed  to  leave  a  single  section  of  the  Code  until 
he  had  thoroughly  mastered  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  his 


190  A  Start  in  Life. 

chief  and  Godeschal,  who  put  him  through  preliminary 
examinations  more  searching  and  longer  than  those  of 
the  law-school.  On  his  return  from  his  classes,  where 
he  was  kept  but  a  short  time,  he  went  to  his  work  in 
the  office;  occasionally  he  was  sent  to  the  Palais,  but 
always  under  the  thumb  of  the  rigid  Godeschal,  till 
dinner.  The  dinner  was  that  of  his  master,  —  one  dish 
of  meat,  one  of  vegetables,  and  a  salad.  The  dessert 
consisted  of  a  piece  of  Gruyere  cheese.  After  dinner, 
Godeschal  and  Oscar  returned  to  the  office  and  worked 
till  night.  Once  a  month  Oscar  went  to  breakfast  with 
his  uncle  Cardot,  and  he  spent  the  Sundays  with  his 
mother.  From  time  to  time  Moreau,  when  he  came 
to  the  office  about  his  own  affairs,  would  take  Oscar  to 
dine  in  the  Palais-Royal,  and  to  some  theatre  in  the 
evening.  Oscar  had  been  so  snubbed  by  Godeschal 
and  by  Derville  for  his  attempts,  at  elegance  that  he  no 
longer  gave  a  thought  to  his  clothes. 

UA  good  clerk,"  Godeschal  told  him,  ''should  have 
two  black  coats,  one  new,  one  old,  a  pair  of  black 
trousers,  black  stockings,  and  shoes.  Boots  cost  too 
much.  You  can't  have  boots  till  you  are  called  to  the 
bar.  A  clerk  should  never  spend  more  than  seven 
hundred  francs  a  year.  Good  stout  shirts  of  strong 
linen  are  what  you  want.  Ha!  when  a  man  starts  from 
nothing  to  reach  fortune,  he  has  to  keep  down  to  bare 
necessities.  Look  at  Monsieur  Desroches ;  he  did  what 
we  are  doing,  and  see  where  he  is  now." 


A  Start  in  Life.  191 

Godeschal  preached  by  example.  If  be  professed 
the  strictest  principles  of  honor,  discretion,  and  hon- 
esty, he  practised  them  without  assumption,  as  he 
walked,  as  he  breathed;  such  action  was  the  natural 
play  of  his  soul,  as  walking  and  breathing  were  the 
natural  play  of  his  organs.  Eighteen  months  after 
Oscar' 8  installation  into  the  office,  the  second  clerk 
was,  for  the  second  time,  slightly  wrong  in  his  ac- 
counts, which  were  comparatively  unimportant.  Gode- 
schal said  to  him  in  presence  of  all  the  other  clerks: 

"My  dear  Gaudet,  go  away  from  here  of  your  own 
free  will,  that  it  may  not  be  said  that  Monsieur 
Desroches  has  dismissed  you.  You  have  been  careless 
or  absent-minded,  and  neither  of  those  defects  can 
pass  here.  The  master  shall  know  nothing  about  the 
matter;  that  is  all  that  I  can  do  for  a  comrade." 

At  twenty  years  of  age,  Oscar  became  third  clerk 
in  the  office.  Though  he  earned  no  salary,  he  was 
lodged  and  fed,  for  he  did  the  work  of  the  second 
clerk.  Desroches  employed  two  chief  clerks,  and  the 
work  of  the  second  was  unremitting  toil.  By  the  end 
of  his  second  year  in  the  law-school  Oscar  knew  more 
than  most  licensed  graduates;  he  did  the  work  at  the 
Palais  intelligently,  and  argued  some  cases  in  cham- 
bers. Godeschal  and  Derville  were  satisfied  with  him. 
And  yet,  though  he  now  seemed  a  sensible  man,  he 
showed,  from  time  to  time,  a  hankering  after  pleasure 


192  A  Start  in  Life. 

and  a  desire  to  shine,  repressed,  though  it  was,  by  the 
stern  discipline  and  continual  toil  of  his  life. 

Moreau,  satisfied  with  Oscar's  progress,  relaxed, 
in  some  degree,  his  watchfulness;  and  when,  in  July, 
1825,  Oscar  passed  his  examinations  with  a  spotless 
record^  the  land-agent  gave  him  the  money  to  dress 
himself  elegantly.  Madame  Clapart,  proud  and  happy 
in  her  son,  prepared  the  outfit  splendidly  for  the  rising 
lawyer. 

In  the  month  of  November,  when  the  courts  reopened, 
Oscar  Husson  occupied  the  chamber  of  the  second  clerk, 
whose  work  he  now  did  wholly.  He  had  a  salary  of 
eight  hundred  francs  with  board  and  lodging.  Con- 
sequently, uncle  Cardot,  who  went  privately  to  Des- 
roches  and  made  inquiries  about  his  nephew,  promised 
Madame  Clapart  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  practice 
for  Oscar,  if  he  continued  to  do  as  well  in  the  future. 

In  spite  of  these  virtuous  appearances,  Oscar  Husson 
was  undergoing  a  great  strife  in.  his  inmost  being.  At 
times  he  thought  of  quitting  a  life  so  directly  against 
his  tastes  and  his  nature.  He  felt  that  galley-slaves 
were  happier  than  he.  Galled  by  the  collar  of  this  iron 
system,  wild  desires  seized  him  to  fly  when  he  com- 
pared himself  in  the  street  with  the  well-dressed  young 
men  whom  he  met.  Sometimes  he  was  driven  by  a  sort 
of  madness  towards  women ;  then,  again,  he  resigned 
himself,  but  only  to  fall  into  a  deeper  disgust  for  life. 


A  Start  in  Life.  193 

Impelled  by  the  example  of  Godeschal,  he  was  forced, 
rather  than  led  of  himself,  to  remain  in  that  rugged 
way. 

Godeschal,  who  watched  and  took  note  of  Oscar, 
made  it  a  matter  of  principle  not  to  allow  his  pupil  to 
be  exposed  to  temptation.  "Generally  the  young  clerk 
was  without  money,  or  had  so  little  that  he  could  not, 
if  he  would,  give  way  to  excesses.  During  the  last 
year,  the  worthy  Godeschal  had  made  five  or  six  parties 
of  pleasure  with  Oscar,  defraying  the  expenses,  for  he 
felt  that  the  rope  by  which  he  tethered  the  young  kid 
must  be  slackened.  These  "pranks,"  as  he  called 
them,  helped  Oscar  to  endure  existence,  for  there  was 
little  amusement  in  breakfasting  with  his  uncle  Cardot, 
and  still  less  in  going  to  see  his  mother,  who  lived 
even  more  penuriously  than  Desroches.  Moreau  could 
not  make  himself  familiar  with  Oscar  as  Godeschal 
could;  and  perhaps  that  sincere  friend  to  young  Hus- 
son  was  behind  Godeschal  in  these  efforts  to  initiate 
the  poor  youth  safely  into  the  mysteries  of  life.  Oscar, 
grown  prudent,  had  come,  through  contact  with  others, 
to  see  the  extent  and  the  character  of  the  fault  he  had 
committed  on  that  luckless  journey ;  but  the  volume  of 
his  repressed  fancies  and  the  follies  of  youth  might 
still  get  the  better  of  him.  Nevertheless,  the  more 
knowledge  he  could  get  of  the  world  and  its  laws,  the 
better  his  mind  would  form  itself,  and,  provided  Gode- 

13 


194  A  Start  in  Life. 

scbal  never  lost  sight  of  him,  Moreau  flattered  himself 
that  between  them  they  could  bring  the  son  of  Madame 
Clapart  through  in  safety. 

"How  is  he  getting  on?"  asked  the  land-agent  of 
Godeschal  on  his  return  from  one  of  his  journeys  which 
had  kept  him  some  months  out  of  Paris. 

"Always  too  much  vanity,"  replied  Godeschal. 
"You  give  him  fine  clothes  and  fine  linen,  he  wears  the 
shirt-fronts  of  a  stockbroker,  and  so  my  dainty  cox- 
comb spends  his  Sundays  in  the  Tuileries,  looking  out 
for  adventures.  What  else  can  you  expect?  That's 
youth.  He  torments  me  to  present  him  to  my  sister, 
where  he  would  see  a  pretty  sort  of  society !  —  ac- 
tresses, ballet-dancers,  elegant  young  fops,  spend- 
thrifts who  are  wasting  their  fortunes!  His  mind,  I  'm 
afraid,  is  not  fitted  for  law.  He  can  talk  well,  though ; 
and  if  we  could  make -him  a  barrister  he  might  plead 
cases  that  were  carefully  prepared  for  him." 

In  the  month  of  November,  1825,  soon  after  Oscar 
Husson  had  taken  possession  of  his  new  clerkship, 
and  at  the  moment  when  he  was  about  to  pass  his 
examination  for  the  licentiate's  degree,  a  new  clerk 
arrived  to  take  the  place  made  vacant  by  Oscar's 
promotion. 

This  fourth  clerk,  named  Frederic  Marest,  intended 
to  enter  the  magistracy,  and  was  now  in  his  third  year 
at  the  law  school.     He  was  a  fine  young  man  of  twenty- 


A  Start  in  Life.  195 

three,  enriched  to  the  amount  of  some  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year  by  the  death  of  a  bachelor  uncle,  and  the 
son  of  Madame  Marest,  widow  of  a*  wealthy  wood- 
merchant.  This  future  magistrate,  actuated  by  a  laud- 
able desire  to  understand  his  vocation  in  its  smallest 
details,  had  put  himself  in  Desroches'  office  for  the 
purpose  of  studying  legal  procedure,  and  of  train- 
ing himself  to  take  a  place  as  head-clerk  in  two 
years.  He  hoped  to  do  his  stage  (the  period  be- 
tween the  admission  as  licentiate  and  the  call  to  the 
bar)  in  Paris,  in  order  to  be  fully  prepared  for  the 
functions  of  a  post  which  would  surely  not  be  refused 
to  a  rich  young  man.  To  see  himself,  by  the  -time  he 
was  thirty,  procureur  du  roi  in  any  court,  no  matter 
where,  was  his  sole  ambition.  Though  Frederic  Marest 
was  cousin-german  to  Georges  Marest,  the  latter  not 
having  told  his  surname  in  Pierrotin's  coucou,  Oscar 
Husson  did  not  connect  the  present  Marest  with  the 
grandson  of  Czerni-Georges. 

" Messieurs,"  said  Godeschal  at  breakfast  time, 
addressing  all  the  clerks,  UI  announce  to  you  the 
arrival  of  a  new  jurisconsult;  and  as  he  is  rich,  richis- 
sime,  we  will  make  him,  I  hope,  pay  a  glorious 
entrance-fee." 

"Forward,  the  book!"  cried  Oscar,  nodding  to  the 
youngest  clerk,  "and  pray  let  us  be  serious." 

The  youngest  clerk  climbed  like  a  squirrel  along  the 


196  A  Start  in  Life. 

shelves  which  lined  the  room,  until  he  could  reach  a 
register  placed  on  the  top  shelf,  where  a  thick  layer 
of  dust  had  settled  on  it. 

"It  is  getting  colored,"  said  the  little  clerk,  exhibit- 
ing the  volume. 

We  must  explain  the  perennial  joke  of  this  book, 
then  much  in  vogue  in  legal  offices.  In  a  clerical 
life  where  work  is  the  rule,  amusement  is  all  the  more 
treasured  because  it  is  rare ;  but,  above  all,  a  hoax  or 
a  practical  joke  is  enjoyed  with  delight.  This  fancy 
or  custom  does,  to  a  certain  extent,  explain  George 
Marest's  behavior  in  the  coucou.  The  gravest  and 
most  gloomy  clerk  is  possessed,  at  times,  with  a  crav- 
ing for  fun  and  quizzing.  The  instinct  with  which  a 
set  of  young  clerks  will  seize  and  develop  a  hoax  or  a 
practical  joke  is  really  marvellous.  It  has  no  counter- 
part except  among  painters.  The  denizens  of  a  studio 
and  of  a  lawyer's  office  are,  in  this  line,  superior  to 
comedians. 

In  buying  a  practice  without  clients,  Desroches 
began,  as  it  were,  a  new  dynasty.  This  circumstance 
made  a  break  in  the  usages  relative  to  the  reception  of 
new-comers.  Moreover,  Desroches  having  taken  an 
office  where  legal  documents  had  never  yet  been  scrib- 
bled, had  bought  new  tables,  and  white  boxes  edged 
with  blue,  also  new.  His  staff  was  made  up  of  clerks 
coming  from  other  offices,  without  mutual  ties,  and  sur- 


A  Start  in  Life.  197 

prised,  as  one  may  say,  to  find  themselves  together. 
Godeachal,  who  had  served  his  apprenticeship  under 
.Maine  Derville,  was  not  the  sort  of  clerk  to  allow  the 
precious  tradition  of  the  "welcome"  to  be  lost.  This 
"welcome"  is  a  breakfast  which  every  neophyte  must 
give  to  the  "ancients"  of  the  office  into  which  he 
enters. 

Now,  about  the  time  when  Oscar  came  to  the  office, 
during  the  first  six  months  of  Desroches'  installation, 
on  a  winter  evening  when  the  work  had  been  got 
through  more  quickly  than  usual,  and  the  clerks  were 
warming  themselves  before  the  fire  preparatory  to 
departure,  it  came  into  Godeschal's  head  to  construct 
and  compose  a  Register  architriclino-basochien,  of  the 
utmost  antiquity,  saved  from  the  fires  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  derived  through  the  procureur  of  the  Chatelet- 
Bordin,  the  immediate  predecessor  of  Sauvaguest,  the 
attorney,  from  whom  Desroches  had  bought  his  prac- 
tice. The  work,  which  was  highly  approved  by  the 
other  clerks,  was  begun  toy  a  search  through  all  the 
dealers  in  old  paper  for  a  register,  made  of  paper  with 
the  mark  of  the  eighteenth  century,  duly  bound  in 
parchment,  on  which  should  be  the  stamp  of  an  order 
in  council.  Having  found  such  a  volume  it  was  left 
about  in  the  dust,  on  the  stove,  on  the  ground,  in  the 
kitchen,  and  even  in  what  t lie  clerks  called  the  "cham- 
ber of  deliberations;"  and  thus  it  obtained  a  mouldi- 


198  A  Start  in  Life. 

ness  to  delight  an  antiquary,  cracks  of  aged  dilapida- 
tion, and  broken  corners  that  looked  as  though  the  rats 
had  gnawed  them;  also,  the  gilt  edges  were  tarnished 
with  surprising  perfection.  As  soon  as  the  book  was 
duly  prepared,  the  entries  were  made.  The  following 
extracts  will  show  to  the  most  obtuse  mind  the  purpose 
to  which  the  office  of  Maitre  Desroches  devoted  this 
register,  the  first  sixty  pages  of  which  were  filled  with 
reports  of  fictitious  cases.  On  the  first  page  appeared 
as  follows,  in  the  legal  spelling  of  the  eighteenth 
century :  — 

In  the  name  of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  so  be 
it.  This  day,  the  feast  of  the  our  lady  Saincte-Geneviesve, 
patron  saint  of  Paris,  under  whose  protection  have  existed, 
since  the  year  1 525  the  clerks  of  this  Practice,  we  the  under- 
signed, clerks  and  sub-clerks  of  Maistre  Jerosme-Sebastien 
Bordin,  successor  to  the  late  Guerbet,  in  his  lifetime  pro- 
cureur  at  the  Chastelet,  do  hereby  recognize  the  obligation 
under  which  we  lie  to  renew  and  continue  the  register  and  the 
archives  of  installation  of  the  clerks  of  this  noble  Practice, 
a  glorious  member  of  the  Kingdom  of  Basoche,  the  which 
register,  being  now  full  in  consequence  of  the  many  acts 
and  deeds  of  our  well-beloved  predecessors,  we  have  con- 
signed to  the  Keeper  of  the  Archives  of  the  Palais  for  safe- 
keeping, with  the  registers  of  other  ancient  Practices ;  and 
we  have  ourselves  gone,  each  and  all,  to  hear  mass  at  the 
parish  church  of  Saint-Severin  to  solemnize  the  inaugura- 
tion of  this  our  new  register. 

In  witness  whereof  we  have  hereunto  signed  our  names : 
Malin,    head-clerk;     Gr^vin,    second-clerk;     Athanasb 


A  Start  in  Life.  199 

Feret,  clerk;  Jacques  Huet,  clerk;  Regxault  de  Saixt- 
Jeax-d'Angely,  clerk ;  Bedeau,  youngest  clerk  and  gutter- 
jumper. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  1787. 

After  the  mass  aforesaid  was  heard,  we  conveyed  our- 
selves to  Courtille,  where,  at  the  common  charge,  we  ordered 
a  fine  breakfast;  which  did  not  end  till  seven  o'clock  the 
next  morning. 

This  was  marvellously  well  engrossed.  An  expert 
would  have  said  that  it  was  written  in  the  eighteenth 
century.  Twenty-seven  reports  of  receptions  of  neo- 
phytes followed,  the  last  in  the  fatal  }*ear  of  1792.  Then 
came  a  blank  of  fourteen  years ;  after  which  the  regis- 
ter began  again,  in  1806,  with  the  appointment  of 
Bordin  as  attorne}r  before  the  first  Court  of  the  Seine. 
And  here  follows  the  deed  which  proclaimed  the  ^con- 
stitution of  the  kingdom  of  Basoche  :  — 

God  in  his  mercy  willed  that,  in  spite  of  the  fearful 
storms  which  have  cruelly  ravaged  the  land  of  France,  now 
become  a  great  Empire,  the  archives  of  the  very  celebrated 
Practice  of  Maitre  Bordin  should  be  preserved  ;  and  we,  the 
undersigned,  clerks  of  the  very  virtuous  and  very  worthy 
re  Bordin,  do  not  hesitate  to  attribute  this  unheard-of 
preservation,  when  all  titles,  privileges,  and  charters  were 
lost,  to  the  protection  of  Sainte-Genevieve,  patron  Saint 
of  this  office,  and  also  to  the  reverence  which  the  last  of 
the  pmcureurs'oi  noble  race  had  for  all  that  belonged  to 
ancient  usages  and  customs.  In  the  uncertainty  of  know- 
ing the  exact  part  of  Sainte-Genevieve  and  Maitre  Bordin 


200  A  Start  in  Life. 

in  this  miracle,  we  have  resolved,  each  of  us,  to  go  to  Saint- 
Etienne  du  Mont  and  there  hear  mass,  which  will  be  said 
before  the  altar  of  that  Holy-Shepherdess  who  sends  us  sheep 
to  shear,  and  also  to  offer  a  breakfast  to  our  master  Bordin, 
hoping  that  he  will  pay  the  costs. 

Signed :  Oignard,  first  clerk ;  Poidevin,  second  clerk ; 
Proust,  clerk ;  Derville,  clerk ;  Augustin  Coret,  sub- 
clerk. 

At  the  office. 

November,  1806. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  above-named  clerks  hereby 
return  their  grateful  thanks  to  their  excellent  master,  who 
regaled  them  at  the  establishment  of  the  Sieur  Rolland, 
restaurateur,  rue  du  Hasard,  with  exquisite  wines  of  three 
regions,  to  wit :  Bordeaux,  Champagne,  and  Burgundy,  also 
with  dishes  most  carefully  chosen,  between  the  hours  of 
four  in  the  afternoon  to  half-past  seven  in  the  evening. 
Coffee,  ices,  and  liqueurs  were  in  abundance.  But  the  pres- 
ence of  the  master  himself  forbade  the  chanting  of  hymns 
of  praise  in  clerical  stanzas.  No  clerk  exceeded  the  bounds 
of  amiable  gayety,  for  the  worthy,  respectable,  and  gener- 
ous patron  had  promised  to  take  his  clerks  to  see  Talma 
in  "  Britannicus,"  at  the  Theatre-Francais.  Long  life  to 
Maitre  Bordin !  May  God  shed  favors  on  his  venerable 
pow !  May  he  sell  dear  so  glorious  a  practice !  May  the 
rich  clients  for  whom  he  prays  arrive !  May  his  bills  of 
costs  and  charges  be  paid  in  a  trice !  May  our  masters  to 
come  be  like  him !  May  he  ever  be  loved  by  clerks  in 
other  worlds  than  this! 

Here  followed  thirty-three  reports  of  various  recep- 
tions of  new  clerks,  distinguished  from  one  another  by 


A  Start  in  Life.  201 

(1  liferent  writing  and  different  inks,  also  by  quotations, 
signatures,  and  praises  of  good  cheer  and  wines,  which 
seemed  to  show  that  each  report  was  written  and 
signed  on  the  spot,  inter  pocula. 

Finally,  under  date  of  the  month  of  June,  1822,  the 
period  when  Desroches  took  the  oath,  appears  this  con- 
stitutional declaration :  — 

I,  the  undersigned,  Francois-Claude-Marie  Godeschal, 
called  by  Maitre  Desroches  to  perform  the  difficult  func- 
tions of  head-clerk  in  a  Practice  where  the  clients  have 
to  be  created,  having  learned  through  Maitre  Derville, 
from  whose  office  I  come,  of  the  existence  of  the  famous 
archives  archilriclino-basochien,  .so  celebrated  at  the  Palais, 
have  implored  our  gracious  master  to  obtain  them  from  his 
predecessor ;  for  it  has  become  of  the  highest  importance  to 
recover  a  document  bearing  date  of  the  year  1786,  which 
is  connected  with  other  documents  deposited  for  safe-keep- 
ing at  the  Palais,  the  existence  of  which  has  been  certified 
to  by  Messrs.  Terrasse  and  Duclos,  keepers  of  records,  by 
the  help  of  which  we  may  go  back  to  the  year  1525,  and 
find  historical  indications  of  the  utmost  value  on  the  man- 
ners, customs,  and  cookery  of  the  clerical  race. 

Having  received  a  favorable  answer  to  this  request,  the 
present  office  has  this  day  been  put  in  possession  of  these 
proofs  of  the  worship  in  which  our  predecessors  held  the 
Goddess  Bottle  and  good  living. 

In  consequence  thereof,  for  the  edification  of  our  suc- 
cessors. ;n 1. 1  to  renew  the  chain  of  years  and  goblets,  T,  the 
Baid  Godeschal,  have  invited  Messieurs  Doublet,  second 
clerk;  Vassal,  third  clerk  ;  Herisson  and  Grandemain,  clerks; 


202  A  Start  in  Life. 

and  Dumets,  sub-clerk,  to  breakfast,  Sunday  next,  at  the 
"  Cheval  Rouge,"  on  the  Quai  Saint-Bernard,  where  we  will 
celebrate  the  victory  of  obtaining  this  volume  which  con- 
tains the  Charter  of  our  gullets. 

This  day,  Sunday,  June  27th,  were  imbibed  twelve  bottles 
of  twelve  different  wines,  regarded  as  exquisite ;  also  were 
devoured  melons,  pate's  au  jus  romanum,  and  a  fillet  of  beef 
with  mushroom  sauce.  Mademoiselle  Mariette,  the  illustri- 
ous sister  of  our  head-clerk  and  leading  lady  of  the  Royal 
Academy  of  music  and  dancing,  having  obligingly  put  at 
the  disposition  of  this  Practice  orchestra  seats  for  the  per- 
formance of  this  evening,  it  is  proper  to  make  this  record 
of  her  generosity.  Moreover,  it  is  hereby  decreed  that  the 
aforesaid  clerks  shall  convey  themselves  in  a  body  to  that 
noble  demoiselle  to  thank  her  in  person  and  declare  to  her 
that  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  lawsuit,  if  the  devil  sends 
her  one,  she  shall  pay  the  money  laid  out  upon  it,  and  no 
more. 

And  our  head-clerk  Godeschal  has  been  and  is  hereby  pro- 
claimed a  flower  of  Basoche,  and,  more  especially,  a  good 
fellow.  May  a  man  who  treats  so  well  be  soon  in  treaty 
for  a  Practice  of  his  own ! 

On  this  record  were  stains  of  wine,  pates,  and  candle- 
grease.  To  exhibit  the  stamp  of  truth  that  the  writers 
had  managed  to  put  upon  these  records,  we  may  here 
give  the  report  of  Oscar's  own  pretended  reception  :  — 

This  day,  Monday,  November  25th,  1822,  after  a  session 
held  yesterday  in  the  rue  de  la  Cerisaie,  Arsenal  quarter,  at 
the  house  of  Madame  Clapart,  mother  of  the  candidate- 
basochien  Oscar  Husson,  we,  the  undersigned,  declare  that 


A  Start  in  Life.  203 

the  repast  of  admission  surpassed  our  expectations.  It  was 
composed  of  radishes,  pink  and  black,  gherkins,  anchovies, 
butter  and  olives  for  hors-d'oeuvre ;  a  succulent  soup  of  rice, 
bearing  testimony  to  maternal  solicitude,  for  we  recognized 
therein  a  delicious  taste  of  poultry  ;  indeed,  by  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  new  member,  we  learned  that  the  giblets  of 
a  fine  stew  prepared  by  the  hands  of  Madame  Clapart  her- 
self had  been  judiciously  inserted  into  the  family  soup-pot 
with  a  care  that  is  never  taken  except  in  such  households. 

Item :  the  said  giblets  inclosed  in  a  sea  of  jelly. 

Item  :  a  tongue  of  beef  with  tomatoes,  which  rendered  us 
all  tongue-tied  automatoes. 

Item :  a  compote  of  pigeons  which  caused  us  to  think  the 
angels  had  had  a  finger  in  it. 

Item:  a  timbale  of  macaroni  surrounded  by  chocolate 
custards. 

Item :  a  dessert  composed  of  eleven  delicate  dishes,  among 
which  we  remarked  (in  spite  of  the  tipsiness  caused  by 
sixteen  bottles  of  the  choicest  wines)  a  compote  of  peaches 
of  august  and  mirobolant  delicacy. 

The  wines  of  Roussillon  and  those  of  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone  completely  effaced  those  of  Champagne  and  Bur- 
gundy. A  bottle  of  maraschino  and  another  of  kirsch  did, 
in  spite  of  the  exquisite  coffee,  plunge  us  into  so  marked  an 
cenological  ecstasy  that  we  found  ourselves  at  a  late  hour 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  instead  of  our  domiciles,  where 
we  thought  we  were. 

Tn  the  statutes  of  our  Order  there  is  one  rule  which  is 
rigidly  enforced ;  namely,  to  allow  all  candidates  for  the 
privileges  of  Basoche  to  limit  the  magnificence  of  their 
feast  of  welcome  to  the  length  of  their  purse ;  for  it  is 
publicly  notorious  that  no  one  delivers  himself  up  to  The- 


204  A  Start  in  Life. 

mis  if  he  has  a  fortune,  and  every  clerk  is,  alas,  sternty 
curtailed  by  his  parents.  Consequently,  we  hereby  record 
with  the  highest  praise  the  liberal  conduct  of  Madame 
Clapart,  widow,  by  her  first  marriage,  of  Monsieur  Husson, 
father  of  the  candidate,  who  is  worthy  of  the  hurrahs  which 
we  gave  for  her  at  dessert. 

To  all  of  which  we  hereby  set  our  hands. 

[Signed  by  all  the  clerks.] 

Three  clerks  had  already  been  deceived  by  the  Book, 
and  three  real  "receptions  of  welcome,"  were  recorded 
on  this  imposing  register. 

The  day  after  the  arrival  of  each  neophyte,  the  little 
sub-clerk  (the  errand-boy  and  "gutter-jumper")  laid 
upon  the  new-comer's  desk  the  "  Archives  Architriclino 
Basochiennes,"  and  the  clerks  enjoyed  the  sight  of  his 
countenance  as  he  studied  its  facetious  pages.  Inter 
pocula  each  candidate  had  learned  the  secret  of  the 
farce,  and  the  revelation  inspired  him  with  the  desire 
to  hoax  his  successor. 

We  now  see  why  Oscar,  become  in  his  turn  partici- 
pator in  the  hoax,  called  out  to  the  little  clerk,  "For- 
ward, the  book !  " 

Ten  minutes  later  a  handsome  young  man,  with  a 
fine  figure  and  pleasant  face,  presented  himself,  asked 
for  Monsieur  Desroches,  and  gave  his  name  without 
hesitation  to  Godeschal. 

"I  am  Frederic  Marest,"  he  said,  "  and  I  come  to 
take  the  place  of  third  clerk." 


A  Start  in  Life.  205 

"  Monsieur  Husson,"  said  Godeschal  to  Oscar,  "  show 
monsieur  his  seat  and  tell  him  about  the  customs  of  the 
office." 

The  next  da}'  the  new  clerk  found  the  register  lying 
on  his  desk.  He  took  it  up,  but  after  reading  a  few 
pages  he  began  to  laugh,  said  nothing  to  the  assembled 
clerks,   and  laid  the  book  down  again. 

41  Messieurs,"  he  said,  when  the  hour  of  departure 
came  at  five  o'clock,  *•  I  have  a  cousin  who  is  head- 
clerk  of  the  notary  Maitre  Leopold  Hannequin  ;  I  will 
ask  his  advice  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do  for  my 
welcome." 

"That  looks  ill,"  cried  Godeschal,  when  Frederic 
had  gone,  "  he  has  n't  the  cut  of  a  novice,  that  fellow  !" 

kk  We  '11  get  some  fun  out  of  him  yet,"  said  Oscar. 


206  A  Start  in  Life. 


IX. 

LA   MARQUISE    DE    LAS    FLORENTINAS    Y    CABIROLOS. 

The  following  da}',  at  two  o'clock,  a  young  man 
entered  the  office,  whom  Oscar  recognized  as  Georges 
Marest,  now  head-clerk  of  the  notary  Hannequin. 

"Ha!  here's  the  friend  of  Ali  pacha!"  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  flippant  way. 

"Hey!  you  here,  Monsieur  l'ambassadeur ! "  re- 
turned Georges,  recollecting  Oscar. 

"So  you  know  each  other?"  said  Godeschal,  ad- 
dressing Georges. 

11 1  should  think  so  !  We  got  into  a  scrape  together," 
replied  Georges,  "  about  two  years  ago.  Yes,  I  had  to 
leave  Crottat  and  go  to  Hannequin  in  consequence  of 
that  affair." 

"  What  was  it?  "  asked  Godeschal. 

"  Oh,  nothing!"  replied  Georges,  at  a  sign  from 
Oscar.  "  We  tried  to  hoax  a  peer  of  France,  and  he 
bowled  us  over.  Ah  ga!  so  you  want  to  jockey  my 
cousin,  do  30U?" 

"We  jockey  no  one,"  replied  Oscar,  with  dignity; 
"there's  our  charter." 


A  Start  in  Life.  207 

And  he  presented  the  famous  register,  pointing  to  a 

place  where  sentence  of  banishment  was  passed  on  a 

refractory  who  was  stated  to  have  been  forced,  for  acts 

of  dishonesty,  to  leave  the  office  in  1788. 
* 

Georges  laughed  as  he  looked  through  the  archives. 

44  Well,  well,"  he  said,  44my  cousin  and  I  are  rich, 
and  we  '11  give  you  a  fete  such  as  you  never  had  before, 
—  something  to  stimulate  your  imaginations  for  that 
register.  To-morrow  (Sunday)  you  are  bidden  to  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale  at  two  o'clock.  Afterwards,  I  '11 
take  you  to  spend  the  evening  with  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise de  las  Florentinas  y  Cabirolos,  where  we  shall 
play  cards,  and  you'll  see  the  elite  of  the  women  of 
fashion.  Therefore,  gentlemen  of  the  lower  courts," 
he  added,  with  notarial  assumption,  "  }ou  will  have  to 
behave  yourselves,  and  carry  your  wine  like  the  sei- 
gneurs of  the  Regency." 

44  Hurrah  !  "  cried  the  office  like  one  man.  "  Bravo  ! 
very  well !  vivat !     Long  live  the  Marests  !  " 

44  What 's  all  this  about?  "  asked  Desroches,  coming 
out  from  his  private  office.  "  Ah  !  is  that  you,  Georges? 
I  know  what  you  are  after ;  you  want  to  demoralize  my 
clerks." 

So  saying,  he  withdrew  to  his  own  room,  calling 
Oscar  after  him. 

44  Here,"  he  said,  opening  his  cash-box,  44  are  five 
hundred  francs.     Go  to  the  Palais,  and  get  from  the 


208  A  Start  in  Life. 

registrar  a  copy  of  the  decision  in  Vandernesse  against 
Vandernesse ;  it  must  be  served  to-night  if  possible. 
I  have  promised  a  prod  of  twenty  francs  to  Simon. 
Wait  for  the  copy  if  it  is  not  ready.  Above  all,  don't 
let  yourself  be  fooled ;  for  Derville  is  capable,  in  the 
interest  of  his  clients,  to  stick  a  spoke  in  our  wheel. 
Count  Felix  de  Vandernesse  is  more  powerful  than  his 
brother,  our  client,  the  ambassador.  Therefore  keep 
your  eyes  open,  and  if  there  's  the  slightest  hitch  come 
back  to  me  at  once." 

Oscar  departed  with  the  full  intention  of  distinguish- 
ing himself  in  this  little  skirmish,  —  the  first  affair  en- 
trusted to  him  since  his  installation  as  second  clerk. 

After  the  departure  of  Georges  and  Oscar,  Godeschal 
sounded  the  new  clerk  to  discover  the  joke  which,  as 
he  thought,  lay  behind  this  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas 
y  Cabirolos.  But  Frederic,  with  the  coolness  and 
gravity  of  a  king's  attorne}T,  continued  his  cousin's 
hoax,  and  by  his  way  of  answering,  and  his  manner 
generally,  he  succeeded  in  making  the  office  believe 
that  the  marquise  might  really  be  the  widow  of  a  Span- 
ish grandee,  to  whom  his  cousin  Georges  was  paying 
his  addresses.  Born  in  Mexico,  and  the  daughter  of 
Creole  parents,  this  young  and  wealthy  widow  was 
noted  for  the  easy  manners  and  habits  of  the  women  of 
those  climates. 

"  '  She  loves  to  laugh,  she  loves  to  sing,  she  loves 


A  Start  in  Life.  209 

to  drink  like  me ! '  "  be  said  in  a  low  voice,  quoting  the 
well-known  song  of*  Beranger.  "  Georges,"  he  added, 
^  is  very  rich  ;  he  has  inherited  from  his  father  (who 
was  :i  widower)  eighteen  thousand  francs  a  year,  and 
with  the  twelve  thousand  which  an  uncle  has  just  left 
to  each  of  us,  he  has  an  income  of  thirty  thousand.  So 
he  pays  his  debts,  and  gives  up  the  law.  He  hopes  to 
be  Marquis  de  las  Florentinas,  for  the  young  widow  is 
marquise  in  her  own  right,  and  has  the  privilege  of 
giving  her  titles  to  her  husband." 

Though  the  clerks  were  still  a  good  deal  undecided  in 
mind  as  to  the  marquise,  the  double  perspective  of  a 
breakfast  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale  and  a  fashionable 
festivit}'  put  them  into  a  state  of  joyous  expectation. 
They  reserved  all  points  as  to  the  Spanish  lady,  intend- 
ing to  judge  her  without  appeal  after  the  meeting. 

The  Marquise  de-  las  Florentinas  y  Cabirolos  was 
neither  more  nor  less  than  Mademoiselle  Agathe-Flo- 
rentine  Cabirolle,  first  danseuse  at  the  Gaiete*,  .with 
whom  uncle  Cardot  was  in  the  habit  of  singing  u  Mere 
Godichon."  A  year  after  the  verj*  reparable  loss  of 
Madame  Cardot,  the  successful  merchant  encountered 
Florentine  as  she  was  leaving  Coulon's  dancing-class. 
Attracted  by  the  beauty  of  that  choregraphic  flower 
(Florentine  was  then  about  thirteen  years  of  age),  he 
followed  her  to  the  rue  Pastourol,  where  he  found  that 
the  future  star  of  the  ballet  was  the  daughter  of  a  por- 

14 


210  A  Start  in  Life. 

tress.  Two  weeks  later,  the  mother  and  daughter, 
established  in  the  rue  de  Crussol,  were  enjoying  a 
modest  competence.  It  was  to  this  protector  of  the 
arts  —  to  use  the  consecrated  phrase  — ;that  the  theatre 
owed  the  brilliant  danseuse.  The  generous  Maecenas 
made  two  beings  almost  beside  themselves  with  J03'  in 
the  possession  of  mahogany  furniture,  hangings,  car- 
pets, and  a  regular  kitchen  ;  he  allowed  them  a  woman- 
of-all-work,  and  gave  them  two  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
a  month  for  their  living.  Pere  Cardot,  with  his  hair  in 
"  pigeon-wings,"  seemed  like  an  angel,  and  was  treated 
with  the  attention  due  to  a  benefactor.  To  him  this 
was  the  age  of  gold. 

For  three  years  the  warbler  of  "Mere  Godichon  "  had 
the  wise  policy  to  keep  Mademoiselle  Cabirolle  and 
her  mother  in  this  little  apartment,  which  was  only  ten 
steps  from  the  theatre ;  but  he  gave  the  girl,  out  of  love 
for  the  choregraphic  art,  the  great  Vestris  for  a  master. 
In  1820  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Florentine  dance 
her  first  upas"  in  the  ballet  of  a  melodrama  entitled 
"The  Ruins  of  Babylon."  Florentine  was  then  about 
sixteen.  Shortly  after  this  debut  Pere  Cardot  became 
an  "old  screw"  in  the  eyes  of  his  protegee;  but  as  he 
had  the  sense  to  see  that  a  danseuse  at  the  Gaiete  had 
a  certain  rank  to  maintain,  he  raised  the  monthly 
stipend  to  five  hundred  francs,  for  which,  although  he 
did  not  again   become  an  angel,  he  was,  at  least,  a 


A  Start  in  Life.  211 

"friend  for  life,"  a  second  father.  This  was  his  silver 
age. 

From  1820  to  1823,  Florentine  had  the  experience  of 
every  danseuse  of  nineteen  to  twenty  years  of  age.  Her 
friends  were  the  illustrious  Mariette  and  Tullia,  leading 
ladies  of  the  Opera,  Florine,  and  also  poor  Coral ie, 
torn  too  early  from  the  arts,  and  love,  and  Camusot. 
As  old  Cardot  had  by  this  time  acquired  five  addi- 
tional years,  he  had  fallen  into  the  indulgence  of 
a  semi -paternity,  which  is  the  way  with  old  men 
towards  the  young  talents  they  have  trained,  and  which 
owe  their  successes  to  them.  Besides,  where  could  he 
have  found  another  Florentine  who  knew  all  his  habits 
and  likings,  and  with  whom  he  and  his  friends  could 
sing  "Mere  Godichon"?  So  the  little  old  man  re- 
mained under  a  yoke  that  was  semi-conjugal  and  also 
irresistibly  strong.  This  was  the  brass  age  for  the  old 
fellow. 

During  the  five  years  of  silver  and  gold  Pere  Cardot 
had  laid  by  eighty  thousand  francs.  The  old  gentle- 
man, wise  from  experience,  foresaw  that  by  the  time 
he  was  seventy  Florentine  would  be  of  age,  probably 
engaged  at  the  Opera,  and,  consequently,  wanting  all 
the  luxury  of  a  theatrical  star.  Some  days  before  the 
party  mentioned  by  Georges,  Pere  Cardot  had  spent 
the  sum  of  forty-five  thousand  franca  in  fitting  up  for 
his  Florentine  the  former  apartment  of  the  late  Coralie. 


212  A  Start  in  Life. 

In  Paris  there  are  suites  of  rooms  as  well  as  houses  and 
streets  which  have  their  predestinations.  Enriched 
with  a  magnificent  service  of  plate,  the  prima  danseuse 
of  the  Gaiete  began  to  give  dinners,  spent  three  hun- 
dred francs  a  month  on  her  dress,  never  went  out 
except  in  a  hired  carriage,  and  had  a  maid  for  herself, 
a  cook,  and  a  little  footman. 

In  fact,  an  engagement  at  the  Opera  was  already  in 
the  wind.  The  Cocon  d'Or  did  homage  to  its  first 
master  by  sending  its  most  splendid  products  for  the 
gratification  of  Mademoiselle  Cabirolle,  now  called 
Florentine.  The  magnificence  which  suddenly  burst 
upon  her  apartment  in  the  rue  de  Vendome  would  have 
satisfied  the  most  ambitious  supernumerary.  After 
being  the  master  of  the  ship  for  seven  years,  Cardot 
now  found  himself  towed  along  by  a  force  of  unlimited 
caprice.  But  the  luckless  old  gentleman  was  fond  of 
his  tyrant.  Florentine  was  to  close  his  eyes;  he 
meant  to  leave  her  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  The 
iron  age  had  now  begun. 

Georges  Marest,  with  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year, 
and  a  handsome  face,  courted  Florentine.  Every 
danseuse  makes  a  point  of  having  some  young  man  who 
will  take  her  to  drive,  and  arrange  the  gay  excursions 
into  the  country  which  all  such  women  delight  in. 
However  disinterested  she  may  be,  the  courtship  of 
such   a    star   is  a  passion  which   costs   some   trifles 


A  Start  in  Life.  213 

to  the  favored  mortal.  There  are  dinners  at  restau- 
rants, boxes  at  the  theatres,  carriages  to  go  to  the 
environs  and  return,  choice  wines  consumed  in  profu- 
sion, —  for  an  opera  danseuse  eats  and  drinks  like  an 
athlete.  Georges  amused  himself  like  other  young  men 
who  pass  at  a  jump  from'  paternal  discipline  to  a  rich 
independence,  and  the  death  of  his  uncle,  nearly  doub- 
ling his  means,  had  still  further  enlarged  his  ideas. 
As  long  as  he  had  only  his  patrimony  of  eighteen  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  his  intention  was  to  become  a 
notary,  but  (as  his  cousin  remarked  to  the  clerks  of 
Desroches)  a  man  must  be  stupid  who  begins  a  profes- 
sion with  the  fortune  most  men  hope  to  acquire  in 
order  to  leave  it.  Wiser  than  Georges,  Frederic  per- 
sisted in  following  the  career  of  public  office,  and  of 
putting  himself,  as  we  have  seen,  in  training  for  it. 

A  young  man  as  handsome  and  attractive  as  Georges 
might  very  well  aspire  to  the  hand  of  a  rich  Creole;  and 
the  clerks  in  Desroches'  office,  all  of  them  the  sons  of 
poor  parents,  having  never  frequented  the  great  world, 
or,  indeed,  kjtown  anything  about  it,  put  themselves 
into  their  best  clothes  on  the  following  day,  impatient 
enough  to  behold,  and  be  presented  to  the  Mexican 
Marquise  de  laa  Florentinaa  y  Cabirolos. 

"What  luck,"  said  Oscar  to  Godeschal,  as  they  were 
getting  up  in  the  morning,  "that  I  had  just  ordered  a 
new  coat  and  trousers  and  waistcoat,  and  that  my  dear 


214  A  Start  in  Life. 

mother  had  made  me  that  fine  outfit!  I  have  six  frilled 
shirts  of  fine  linen  in  the  dozen  she  made  for  me.  We 
shall  make  an  appearance !  Ha !  ha !  suppose  one  of 
us  were  to  carry  off  the  Creole  marchioness  from  that 
Georges  Marest! " 

"Fine  occupation  that,  for  a  clerk  in  our  office !" 
cried  Godeschal.  "Will  you  never  control  your 
vanity,  popinjay  ?  " 

"Ah!  monsieur, "  said  Madame  Clapart,  who  entered 
the  room  at  that  moment  to  bring  her  son  some  cravats, 
and  overheard  the  last  words  of  the  head-clerk,  "would 
to  God  that  my  Oscar  might  always  follow  your  advice. 
It  is  what  I  tell  him  all  the  time:  'Imitate  Monsieur 
Godeschal;  listen  to  what  he  tells  you.'  " 

"He  '11  go  all  right,  madame,"  interposed  Godeschal ; 
"  but  he  must  n't  commit  any  more  blunders  like  one  he 
was  guilty  of  last  night,  or  he  '11  lose  the  confidence  of 
the  master.  Monsieur  Derosches  won't  stand  any  one 
not  succeeding  in  what  he  tells  them  to  do.  He 
ordered  your  son,  for  a  first  employment  in  his  new 
clerkship,  to  get  a  copy  of  a  judgment  j*]nich  ought  to 
have  been  served  last  evening,  and  Oscar,  instead  of 
doing  so,  allowed  himself  to  be  fooled.  The  master 
was  furious.  It's  a  chance  if  I  have  been  able  to 
repair  the  mischief  by  going  this  morning,  at  six 
o'clock,  to  see  the  head-clerk  at  the  Palais,  who  has 
promised  me  to  have  the  copy  ready  by  seven  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning." 


A  Start  in  Life.  215 

"Ah,  Godeschal!  "  cried  Oscar,  going  up  to  him  and 
pressing  his  hand.     "You  are,  indeed,  a  true  friend." 

"Ah,  monsieur!,,  said  Madame  Clapart,  "a  mother 
is  happy,  indeed,  in  knowing  that  her  son  has  a  friend 
like  you;  you  may  rely  upon  a  gratitude  which  can 
end  only  with  my  life.  Oscar,  one  thing  I  want  to  say 
to  you  now.  Distrust  that  Georges  Marest.  I  wish 
you  had  never  met  him  again,  for  he  was  the  cause  of 
your  first  great  misfortune  in  life." 

"Was  he?     How  so?"  asked  Godeschal. 

The  too  devoted  mother  explained  succinctly  the 
adventure  of  her  poor  Oscar  in  Pierrotin's  coucou. 

"I  am  certain,"  said  Godeschal,  "that  that  blagueur 
is  preparing  some  trick  against  us  for  this  evening. 
As  for  me,  I  can't  go  to  the  Marquise  de  las  Florin- 
tinas'  party,  for  my  sister  wants  me  to  draw  up  the 
terms  of  her  new  engagement;  I  shall  have  to  leave 
after  the  dessert.  But,  Oscar,  be  on  your  guard.  They 
will  ask  you  to  play,  and,  of  course,  the  Desroches 
office  zn  ust  w't  drawback;  but  be  careful.  You  shall 
play  for  botiwJ5  us;  here  's  a  hundred  francs,"  said  the 
good  fellow,  knowing  that  Oscar's  purse  was  dry  from 
the  demands  of  his  tailor  and  bootmaker.  "  Be  pru- 
dent; remember  not  to  play  beyond  that  sum;  and 
don't  let  yourself  get  tipsy,  either  with  play  or 
libations.  Saperlotte!  a  second  clerk  is  already  a 
man  of  weight,  and  should  n't  gamble  on  notes,  or  go 


216  A  Start  in  Life. 

beyond  a  certain  limit  in  anything.  His  business  is 
to  get  himself  admitted  to  the  bar.  Therefore  don't 
drink  too  much,  don't  play  too  long,  and  maintain  a 
proper  dignity,  —  that 's  your  rale  of  conduct.  Above 
all,  get  home  by  midnight;  for,  remember,  you  must 
be  at  the  Palais  to-morrow  morning  by  seven  to  get 
that  judgment.  A  man  is  not  forbidden  to  amuse 
himself,  but  business  first,  my  boy." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Oscar?"  said  Madame  Clapart. 
"Monsieur  Godeschal  is  indulgent;  see  how  well  he 
knows  how  to  combine  the  pleasures  of  youth  and  the 
duties  of  his  calling." 

Madame  Clapart,  on  the  arrival  of  the  tailor  and  the 
bootmaker  with  Oscar's  new  clothes,  remained  alone 
with  Godeschal,  in  order  to  return  him  the  hundred 
francs  he  had  just  given  her  son. 

"Ah,  monsieur!"  she  said,  "the  blessings  of  a 
mother  will  follow  you  wherever  you  go,  and  in  all 
your  enterprises." 

Poor  woman!  she  now  had  the  supreme  r'^UVht  of 
seeing  her  son  well-dressed,  and  she  £%&■•*  him  a  gold 
watch,  the  price  of  which  she  had  saved  by  economy, 
as  the  reward  of  his  good  conduct. 

"You  draw  for  the  conscription  next  week,"  she 
said,  "and  to  prepare,  in  case  you  get  a  bad  number,  I 
have  been  to  see  your  uncle  Cardot.  He  is  very  much 
pleased  with  you ;  and  so  delighted  to  know  you  are  a 


A  Start  in  Life.  217 

second  clerk  at  twenty,  and  to  bear  of  your  successful 
examination  at  the  law-school,  that  he  promised  me 
the  money  for  a  substitute.  Are  not  you  glad  to  think 
that  your  own  good  conduct  has  brought  such  reward? 
Though  you  have  some  privations  to  bear,  remember 
the  happiness  of  being  able,  five  years  from  now,  to 
buy  a  practice.  And  think,  too,  my  dear  little  kitten, 
how  happy  you  make  your  mother." 

Oscar's  face,  somewhat  thinned  by  study,  had  ac- 
quired, through  habits  of  business,  a  serious  expres- 
sion. He  had  reached  his  full  growth,  his  beard  was 
thriving;  adolescence  had  given  place  to  virility. 
The  mother  could  not  refrain  from  admiring  her  son 
and  kissing  him,  as  she  said:  — 

"Amuse  yourself,  my  dear  boy,  but  remember  the 
advice  of  our  good  Monsieur  Godeschal.  Ah!  by  the 
bye,  I  was  nearly  forgetting!  Here's  a  present  our 
friend  Moreau  sends  you.  See !  what  a  pretty  pocket- 
book." 

"And  I  want  it,  too;  for  the  master  gave  me  five 
hundred  francs  to  get  that  cursed  judgment  of  Vander- 
nesse  versus  Vandernesse,  and  I  don'j;  want  to  leave 
that  sum  of  money  in  my  room." 

"But,  surely,  you  are  not  going  to  carry  it  with 
you!"  exclaimed  his  mother,  in  alarm.  "Suppose 
yon  should  lose  a  sum  like  that!  Had  n't  you  better 
give  it  to  Monsieur  Godeschal   for  safe  keeping?" 


218  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Godeschal!  "  cried  Oscar,  who  thought  his  mother's 
suggestion  excellent. 

But  Godeschal,  who,  like  all  clerks,  had  his  time  to 
himself  on  Sundays,  from  ten  to  two  o'clock,  had 
already  departed. 

When  his  mother  left  him,  Oscar  went  to  lounge  upon 
the  boulevards  until  it  was  time  to  go  to  Georges  Ma- 
rest's  breakfast.  Why  not  display  those  beautiful 
clothes  which  he  wore  with  a  pride  and  joy  which  all 
young  fellows  who  have  been  pinched  for  means  in 
their  youth  will  remember.  A  pretty  waistcoat  with  a 
blue  ground  and  a  palm-leaf  pattern,  a  pair  of  black 
cassimere  trousers  pleated,  a  black  coat  very  well 
fitting,  and  a  cane  with  a  gilt  top,  the  cost  of  which  he 
had  saved  himself,  caused  a  natural  joy  to  the  poor 
lad,  who  thought  of  his  manner  of  dress  on  the  day  of 
that  journey  to  Presles,  as  the  effect  that  Georges  had 
then  produced  upon  him  came  back  to  his  mind. 

Oscar  had  before  him  the  perspective  of  a  clay  of 
happiness ;  he  was  to  see  the  gay  world  at  last !  Let 
us  admit  that  a  clerk  deprived  of  enjoyments,  though 
longing  for  dissipation,  was  likely  to  let  his  unchained 
senses  drive  the  wise  counsels  of  his  mother  and 
Godeschal  completely  out  of  his  mind.  To  the  shame 
of  youth  be  it  said  that  good  advice  is  never  lacking 
to  it.  In  the  matter  of  Georges,  Oscar  himself  had  a 
feeling  of  aversion  for  him;  he  felt  humiliated  before 


A  Start  in  Life.  210 

a  witness  of  that  scene  in  the  salon  at  Presles  when 
Moreau  had  flung  him  at  the  count's  feet.  The  moral 
senses  have  their  laws,  which  are  implacable,  and  we 
are  always  punished  for  disregarding  them.  There  is 
one  in  particular,  which  the  animals  themselves  obey 
without  discussion,  and  invariably;  it  is  that  which 
tells  us  to  avoid  those  who  have  once  injured  us,  with 
or  without  intention,  voluntarily  or  involuntarily. 
The  creature  from  whom  we  receive  either  damage  or 
annoyance  will  always  be  displeasing  to  us.  What- 
ever may  be  his  rank  or  the  degree  of  affection  in  which 
he  stands  to  us,  it  is  best  to  break  away  from  him; 
for  our  evil  genius  has  sent  him  to  us.  Though  the 
Christian  sentiment  is  opposed  to  it,  obedience  to  this 
terrible  law  is  essentially  social  and  conservative. 
The  daughter  of  James  II.,  who  seated  herself  upon 
her  father's  throne,  must  have  caused  him  many  a 
wound  before  that  usurpation.  Judas  had  certainly 
given  some  murderous  blow  to  Jesus  before  he  betrayed 
him.  We  have  within  us  an  inward  power  of  sight, 
an  eye  of  the  soul  which  foresees  catastrophes;  and 
the  repugnance  that  comes  over  us  against  the  fateful 
being  is  the  result  of  that  foresight.  Though  religion 
orders  us  to  conquer  it,  distrust  remains,  and  its  voice 
is  forever  heard.  Would  Oscar,  at  twenty  years  of 
age,  have  the  wisdom  to  listen  to  it? 
Alas!  when,  at  half-past  two  o'clock,  Oscar  entered 


220  A  Start  in  Life. 

the  salon  of  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  —  where  were  three 
invited  persons  beside  the  clerks,  to  wit:  an  old  captain 
of  dragoons,  named  Giroudeau;  Finot,  a  journalist 
who  might  procure  an  engagement  for  Florentine  at 
the  Opera,  and  du  Bruel,  an  author,  the  friend  of 
Tullia,  one  of  Mariette's  rivals,  — the  second  clerk  felt 
his  secret  hostility  vanish  at  the  first  handshaking,  the 
first  dashes  of  conversation  as  they  sat  around  a  table 
luxuriously  served.  Georges,  moreover,  made  himself 
charming  to  Oscar. 

" You've  taken  to  private  diplomacy,"  he  said; 
"for  what  difference  is  there  between  a  lawyer  and  an 
ambassador?  only  that  between  a  nation  and  an  indi- 
vidual. Ambassadors  are  the  attorneys  of  Peoples. 
If  I  can  ever  be  useful  to  you,  let  me  know." 

"Well,"  said  Oscar,  "I  '11  admit  to  you  now  that  you 
once  did  me  a  very  great  harm." 

"Pooh!  "  said  Georges,  after  listening  to  the  explan- 
ations for  which  he  asked ;  "it  was  Monsieur  de  Serizy 
who  behaved  badly.  His  wife !  I  would  n't  have  her  at 
any  price;  neither  would  I  like  to  be  in  the  count's  red 
skin,  minister  of  State  and  peer  of  France  as  he  is. 
He  has  a  small  mind,  and  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  him 
now." 

Oscar  listened  with  true  pleasure  to  these  slurs  on  the 
count,  for  they  diminished,  in  a  way,  the  importance 
of  his  fault;  and  he  echoed  the  spiteful  language  of  the 


A  Start  in  Life.  221 

ex-notary,  who  amused  himself  by  predicting  the  blows 
to  the  nobility  of  which  the  bourgeoisie  were  already 
dreaming,  —  blows  which  were  destined  to  become  a 
reality  in  1830. 

At  half-past  three  the  solid  eating  of  the  feast  began ; 
the  dessert  did  not  appear  till  eight  o'clock,  —  each 
course  having  taken  two  hours  to  serve.  None  but 
clerks  can  eat  like  that!  The  stomachs  of  eighteen 
and  twenty  are  inexplicable  to  the  medical  art.  The 
wines  were  worthy  of  Borrel,  who  in  those  days  had 
superseded  the  illustrious  Balaine,  the  creator  of  the 
first  restaurant  for  delicate  and  perfectly  prepared  food 
in  Paris,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  wThole  wrorld. 

The  report  of  this  Belshazzar's  feast  for  the 
architriclino-basochien  register  was  duly  drawn  up, 
beginning,  Inter  pocula  aurea  restaurant^  qui  vuhjo 
dxcitnr  Rupes  Cancali.  Every  one  can  imagine  the 
fine  page  now  added  to  the  Golden  Book  of  jurispru- 
dential festivals. 

Godeschal  disappeared  after  signing  the  report,  leav- 
ing the  eleven  guests,  stimulated  by  the  old  captain  of 
the  Imperial  Guard,  to  the  wines,  toasts,  and  liqueurs 
of  a' dessert  composed  of  choice  and  early  fruits,  in 
pyramids  that  rivalled  the  obelisk  of  Thebes.  By  half- 
past  ten  the  little  sub-clerk  was  in  such  a  state  that 
Georges  packed  him  into  a  coach,  paid  his  fare,  and 
gave    the  address  of   his  mother  to  the  driver.     The 


222  A  Start  in  Life. 

remaining  ten,  all  as  drunk  as  Pitt  and  Dundas,  talked 
of  going  on  foot  along  the  boulevards,  considering  the 
fine  evening,  to  the  house  of  the  Marquise  de  las  Flo- 
rentinasy  Cabirolos,  where,  about  midnight,  they  might 
expect  to  find  the  most  brilliant  society  of  Paris. 
They  felt  the  need  of  breathing  the  pure  air  into  their 
lungs;  but,  with  the  exception  of  Georges,  Girou- 
deau,  du  Bruel,  and  Finot,  all  four  accustomed  to 
Parisian  orgies,  not  one  of  the  party  could  walk.  Con- 
sequently, Georges  sent  to  a  livery-stable  for  three 
open  carriages,  in  which  he  drove  his  company  for  an 
hour  round  the  exterior  boulevards  from  Montmartre 
to  the  Barriere  du  Trone.  They  returned  by  Bercy, 
the  quays,  and  the  boulevards  to  the  rue  de  Vend 6m e. 
The  clerks  were  fluttering  still  in  the  skies  of  fancy 
to  which  youth  is  lifted  by  intoxication,  when  their 
amphitryon  introduced  them  into  Florentine's  salon. 
There  sparkled  a  bevy  of  stage  princesses,  who,  hav- 
ing been  informed,  no  doubt,  of  Frederic's  joke,  were 
amusing  themselves  by  imitating  the  women  of  good 
society.  The}7  were  then  engaged  in  eating  ices. 
The  wax-candles  flamed  in  the  candelabra.  Tullia's 
footmen  and  those  of  Madame  du  Val-Noble  and  Flo- 
rine,  all  in  full  livery,  were  serving  the  dainties  on 
silver  salvers.  The  hangings,  a  marvel  of  Lyonnaise 
workmanship,  fastened  by  gold  cords,  dazzled  all  eyes. 
The  flowers  of  the  carpet  were  like  a  garden.      The 


A  Start  in  Life.  223 

richest  bibelots  and  curiosities  danced  before  the  eyes 
of  the  new-comers. 

At  first,  and  in  the  state  to  which  Georges  had 
brought  them,  the  clerks,  and  more  particularly  Oscar, 
believed  in  the  Marquise  de  las  Florentinas  y  Cabi- 
rolos.  Gold  glittered  on  four  card-tables  in  the  bed- 
chamber. In  the  salon,  the  women  were  playing  at 
vingt-et-un,  kept   by  Nathan,   the  celebrated   author. 

After  wandering,  tipsy  and  half  asleep,  through  the 
dark  exterior  boulevards,  the  clerks  now  felt  that  they 
had  wakened  in  the  palace  of  Armida.  Oscar,  pre- 
sented to  the  marquise  by  Georges,  was  quite  stupefied, 
and  did  not  recognize  the  danseuse  he  had  seen  at  the 
Gaiete,  in  this  lady,  aristocratically  decolletee  and 
swathed  in  laces,  till  she  looked  like  the  vignette  of  a 
keepsake,  who  received  him  with  manners  and  graces 
the  like  of  which  was  neither  in  the  memory  nor  the 
imagination  of  a  young  clerk  rigidly  brought  up. 
After  admiring  the  splendors  of  the  apartment  and  the 
beautiful  women  there  displayed,  who  had  all  outdone 
each  other  in  their  dress  for  this  occasion,  Oscar  was 
taken  by  the  hand  and  led  by  Florentine  to  a  vingt- 
et-un  table. 

"Let  me  present  you,"  she  said,  "to  the  beautiful 
Marquise  d'Anglade,  one  of  my  nearest  friends." 

And  she  took  poor  Oscar  to  the  pretty  Fanny 
Beaupre',  who  had  just  made  herself  a  reputation  at  the 


224  .  A  Start  in  Life, 

Porte-Saint-Martin,  in  a  melodrama  entitled  "La 
Familled'Anglade." 

"My  dear,"  said  Florentine,  "allow  me  to  present  to 
you  a  charming  youth,  whom  you  can  take  as  a  part- 
ner in  the  game." 

"Ah!  that  will  be  delightful,"  replied  the  actress, 
smiling,  as  she  looked  at  Oscar.  "I  am  losing.  Shall 
we  go  shares,  monsieur?" 

"Madame  la  marquise,  I  am  at  your  orders,"  said 
Oscar,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"Put  down  the  money ;  I  '11  play ;  you  shall  bring  me 
luck!     See,  here  are  my  last  hundred  francs." 

And  the  "marquise"  took  out  from  her  purse,  the 
rings  of  which  were  adorned  with  diamonds,  five  gold 
pieces.  Oscar  pulled  out  his  hundred  in  silver  five- 
franc  pieces,  much  ashamed  at  having  to  mingle  such 
ignoble  coins  with  gold.  In  ten  throws  the  actress 
lost  the  two  hundred  francs. 

"Oh!  how  stupid!"  she  cried.  "I'm  banker  now. 
But  we  '11  play  together  still,  won't  we?  " 

Fanny  Beaupre  rose  to  take  her  place  as  banker,  and 
Oscar,  finding  himself  observed  by  the  whole  table, 
dared  not  retire  on  the  ground  that  he  had  no  money. 
Speech  failed  him,  and  his  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of 
his  mouth. 

"Lend  me  five  hundred  francs,"  said  the  actress  to 
the  danseuse. 


A  Start  in  Life.  225 

Florentine  brought  the  money,  which  she  obtained 
from  Georges,  who  had  just  passed  eight  times  at 
t'r.irte. 

"Nathan  has  won  twelve  hundred  francs,"  said  the 
actress  to  Oscar.  u Bankers  always  win ;  we  won't  let 
them  fool  us,  will  we?"  she  whispered  in  his  ear. 

Persons  of  nerve,  imagination,  and  clash  will  under- 
stand how  it  was  that  poor  Oscar  opened  his  pocket- 
book  and  took  out  the  note  of  five  hundred  francs  which 
Desroches  had  given  him.  He  looked  at  Nathan,  the 
distinguished  author,  who  now  began,  with  Florine,  to 
pla}r  a  heavy  game  against  the  bank. 

"Come,  my  little  man,  take  'em  up,"  cried  Fanny 
Beaupre,  signing  to  Oscar  to  rake  in  the  two  hundred 
francs  which  Nathan  and*  Florine  had  punted. 

The  actress  did  not  spare  taunts  or  jests  on  those 
who  lost.  She  enlivened  the  game  with  jokes  which 
Oscar  thought  singular;  but  reflection  was  stifled  by 
joy ;  for  the  first  two  throws  produced  a  gain  of  two 
thousand  francs.  Oscar  then  thought  of  feigning  ill- 
ness and  making  his  escape,  leaving  his  partner  behind 
him;  but  " honor"  kept  him  there.  Three  more  turns 
and  the  gains  were  lost.  Oscar  felt  a  cold  sweat  run- 
ning down  his  back,  and  he  was  sobered  completely. 

The  two  next  throws  carried  off  the  thousand  francs 
of  their  mutual  stake.  Oscar  was  consumed  with 
thirst,  and  drank  three  glasses  of  iced  punch  one  after 

15 


226  A  Start  in  Life. 

the  other.  The  actress  now  led  him  into  the  bed-cham- 
ber, where  the  rest  of  the  company  were  playing,  talk- 
ing frivolities  with  an  easy  air.  But  by  this  time  the 
sense  of  his  wrong-doing  overcame  him ;  the  figure  of 
Desroches  appeared  to  him  like  a  vision.  He  turned 
aside  to  a  dark  corner  and  sat  down,  putting  his  hand- 
kerchief to  hi3  eyes,  and  wept.  Florentine  noticed 
the  attitude  of  true  grief,  which,  because  it  is  sincere, 
is  certain  to  strike  the  eye  of  one  who  acts.  She  ran 
to  him,  took  the  handkerchief  from  his  hand,  and  saw 
his  tears ;  then  she  led  him  into  a  boudoir  alone. 

"What  is  it,  my  child?"  she  said. 

At  the  tone  and  accent  of  that  voice  Oscar  recog- 
nized a  motherly  kindness  which  is  often  found  in 
women  of  her  kind,  and  he  answered  openly :  — 

"I  have  lost  five  hundred  francs  which  my  employer 
gave  me  to  obtain  a  document  to-morrow  morning; 
there  's  nothing  for  me  but  to  fling  myself  into  the 
river;  I  am  dishonored." 

"How  silly  you  are!"  she  said.  "Stay  where  you 
are;  I'll  get  you  a  thousand  francs  and  you  can  win 
back  what  you  've  lost;  but  don't  risk  more  than  five 
hundred,  so  that  you  may  be  sure  of  your  master's 
money .  Georges  plays  a  fine  game  at  ecarte;  bet  on 
him." 

Oscar,  frightened  by  his  position,  accepted  the  offer 
of  the  mistress  of  the  house. 


A  Start  in  Life.  227 

41  Ah!  "  he  thought,  "it  is  only  women  of  rank  who 
are  capable  of  such  kindness.  Beautiful,  noble,  rich! 
how  lucky  Georges  is !  " 

He  received  the  thousand  francs  from  Florentine  and 
returned  to  bet  on  his  hoaxer.  George  had  just  passed 
for  the  fourth  time  when  Oscar  sat  down  by  him. 
The  other  players  saw  with  satisfaction  the  arrival  of 
a  new  better;  for  all,  with  the  instinct  of  gamblers, 
took  the  side  of  Giroudeau,  the  old  officer  of  the 
Empire. 

"Messieurs,"  said  Georges,  "you  '11  be  punished  for 
deserting  me;  I  feel  in  the  vein.  Come,  Oscar,  we'll 
make  an  end  of  them!  M 

Georges  and  his  partner  lost  five  games  running. 
After  losing  the  thousand  francs  Oscar  was  seized  with 
the  fury  of  play  and  insisted  on  taking  the  cards  him- 
self. By  the  result  of  a  chance  not  at  all  uncommon 
with  those  who  play  for  the  first  time,  he  won.  But 
Georges  bewildered  him  with  advice ;  told  him  when  to 
throw  the  cards,  and  even  snatched  them  from  his 
hand;  so  that  this  conflict  of  wills  and  intuitions  in- 
jured his  vein.  By  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  after 
various  changes  of  fortune,  and  still  drinking  punch, 
Oscar  came  down  to  his  last  hundred  francs.  He  rose 
with  a  heavy  head,  completely  stupefied,  took  a  few 
steps  forward,  and  fell  upon  a  sofa  in  the  boudoir,  his 
eyes  closing  in  a  leaden  sleep. 


228  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Mariette,"  said  Fanny  Beaupre  to  Godeschal's 
sister,  who  had  come  in  about  two  o'clock,  "do  you 
dine  here  to-morrow?  Camusot  and  Pere  Cardot  are 
coming,  and  we'll  have  some  fun." 

"What!"  cried  Florentine,  "and  my  old  fellow 
never  told  me !  " 

"He  said  he'd  tell  you  to-morrow  morning,"  re- 
marked Fanny  Beaupre. 

"The  devil  take  him  and  his  orgies!"  exclaimed 
Florentine.  "He  and  Camusot  are  worse  than  magis- 
trates or  stage-managers.  But  we  have  very  good  din- 
ners here,  Mariette,"  she  continued.  "Cardot  always 
orders  them  from  Chevet's;  bring  your  Due  de  Mau- 
frigneuse  and  we  '11  make  them  dance  like  Tritons." 

Hearing  the  names  of  Cardot  and  Camusot,  Oscar 
made  an  effort  to  throw  off  his  sleep;  but  he  could  only 
mutter  a  few  words  which  were  not  understood,  and 
then  he  fell  back  upon  the  silken  cushions. 

"You'll  have  to  keep  him  here  all  night,"  said 
Fanny  Beaupre,  laughing,  to  Florentine. 

"Oh!  poor  boy!  he  is  drunk  with  punch  and  despair 
both.  It  is  the  second  clerk  in  your  brother's  office," 
she  said  to  Mariette.  "He  has  lost  the  money  his 
master  gave  him  for  some  legal  affair.  He  wanted  to 
drown  himself;  so  I  lent  him  a  thousand  francs,  but 
those  brigands  Finot  and  Giroudeau  won  them  from 
him.     Poor  innocent! " 


A  Start  in  Lift  229 

uBuf  we  ought  to  wake  him,"  said  Mariette.  "Mjl 
brother  won't  make  light  of  it,  nor  his  master  either." 

"  Oh,  wake  him  if  you  can,  and  carry  him  off  with 
you  !  "  said  Florentine,  returning  to  the  salon  to  re- 
ceive the  adieux  of  some  departing  guests. 

Presently  those  who  remained  began  what  was  called 
'•character  dancing,"  and  b}'  the  time  it  was  broad 
daylight,  Florentine,  tired  out,  went  to  bed,  oblivious 
of  Oscar,  who  was  still  in  the  boudoir  sound  asleep. 


230  A  Start  in  Life. 


ANOTHER    CATASTROPHE. 

About  eleven  the  next  morning,  a  terrible  sound 
awoke  the  unfortunate  clerk.  Recognizing  the  voice 
of  his  uncle  Cardot,  he  thought  it  wise  to  feign  sleep, 
and  so  turned  his  face  into  the  yellow  velvet  cushions 
on  which  he  had  passed  the  night. 

"  Really,  my  little  Florentine,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, "this  is  neither  right  nor  sensible;  3011  danced 
last  evening  in  '  Les  Ruines,'  and  you  have  spent  the 
night  in  an  orgy.  That's  deliberately  going  to  work 
to  lose  your  freshness.  Besides  which,  it  was  ungrate- 
ful to  inaugurate  this  beautiful  apartment  without  even 
letting  me  know.  Who  knows  what  has  been  going  on 
here?" 

"Old  monster !"  cried  Florentine,  "haven't  jx>u  a 
key  that  lets  you  in  at  all  hours?  My  ball  lasted  till 
five  in  the  morning,  and  }*ou  have  the  cruelty  to  come 
and  wake  me  up  at  eleven  !  " 

"  Half-past  eleven,  Titine,"  observed  Cardot,  humbly. 
"I  came  out  earty  to  order  a  dinner  fit  for  an  arch- 
bishop at  Chevet's.  Just  see  how  the  carpets  are 
stained  !    What  sort  of  people  did  you  have  here  ?  " 


A  Start  in  Life.  231 

"  You  need  n't  complain,  for  Fanny  Beau  pre*  told  me 
you  were  coming  to  dinner  with  Camusot,  and  to  please 
you  I  've  invited  Tullia,  du  Bruel,  Mariette,  the  Due  de 
Maufrigneuse,  Florine,  and  Nathan.  So  3*011 '11  have 
the  four  loveliest  creatures  ever  seen  behind  the  foot- 
lights ;  we  Ml  dance  3011  a  pas  de  Zephire." 

"  It  is  enough  to  kill  you  to  lead  such  a  life ! " 
cried  old  Cardot ;  -'and  look  at  the  broken  glasses! 
AVli at  pillage !  The  antechamber  actually  makes  me 
shudder  —  " 

At  this  instant  the  wrathful  old  gentleman  stopped 
short  as  if  magnetized,  like  a  bird  which  a  snake  is 
charming.  He  saw  the  outline  of  a  form  in  a  black 
coat  through  the  door  of  the  boudoir. 

"  Ah,  Mademoiselle  Cabirolle  !  "  he  said  at  last. 

"Well,  what?"  she  asked. 

The  eyes  of  the  danseuse  followed  those  of  the  little 
old  man  ;  and  when  she  recognized  the  presence  of  the 
clerk  she  went  off  into  such  fits  of  laughter  that  not 
onty  was  the  old  gentleman  nonplussed,  but  Oscar  was 
compelled  to  appear;  for  Florentine  took  him  by  the 
arm,  still  pealing  with  laughter  at  the  conscience- 
stricken  faces  of  the  uncle  and  nephew. 

"You  here,  nephew?" 

"  Nephew  !  so  he  's  your  nephew?  "  cried  Florentine, 
with  another  burst  of  laughter.  "  You  never  told  me 
about  him.     Why  did  n't  Mariette  carry  you  off?"  she 


232  A  Start  in  Life. 

said  to  Oscar,  who  stood  there  petrified.  "  What  can 
he  do  now,  poor  boy  ?  " 

"Whatever  he  pleases !  "  .said  Cardot,  sharply, 
marching  to  the  door  as  if  to  go  away. 

"  One  moment,  papa  Cardot.  You  will  be  so  good  as 
to  get  your  nephew  out  of  a  scrape  into  which  I  led 
him  ;  for  he  played  the  money  of  his  master  and  lost 
it,  and  I  lent  him  a  thousand  francs  to  win  it  back,  and 
he  lost  that  too." 

4 '  Miserable  boy  !  you  lost  fifteen  hundred  francs  at 
play  at  your  age?" 

"  Oh,  uncle,  uncle  ! "  cried  poor  Oscar,  plunged  by 
these  words  into  all  the  horrors  of  his  position,  and 
falling  on  his  knees  before  his  uncle,  with  clasped 
hands,  "  It  is  twelve  o'clock  !  I  am  lost,  dishonored  ! 
Monsieur  Desroches  will  have  no  pity !  He  gave  me 
the  money  for  an  important  affair,  in  which  his  pride 
was  concerned.  I  was  to  get  a  paper  at  the  Palais  in 
the  case  of  Vandernesse  versus  Vandernesse !  What 
will  become  of  me?  Oh,  save  me  for  the  sake  of  my 
father  and  aunt !  Come  with  me  to  Monsieur  Des- 
roches, and  explain  it  to  him  ;  make  some  excuse,  — 
anything  !  " 

These  sentences  were  jerked  out  through  sobs  and 
tears  that  might  have  moved  the  sphinx  of  Luxor. 

"  Old  skinflint !  "  said  the  danseuse,  who  was  crying, 
"will  you  let  3'our  own  nephew  be  dishonored,  —  the 


A  Start  in  Life.  233 

son  of  the  man  to  whom  3-011  owe  your  fortune? —  for 
his  name  is  Oscar  Husson.  Save  him,  or  Titine  will 
deny  you  forever !  " 

M  But  how  did  he  come  here?  "  asked  Cardot. 

"  Don't  you  see  that  the  reason  he  forgot  to  go  for 
those  papers  was  because  he  was  drunk  and  overslept 
himself.  Georges  and  his  cousin  Frederic  took  all  the 
clerks  in  his  office  to  a  feast  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale." 

Pere  Cardot  looked  at  Florentine  and  hesitated. 

u  Come,  come,"  she  said,  "  you  old  monkey,  should  n't 
1  have  hid  him  better  if  there  had  been  anything  else 
in  it?" 

M  There,  take  }'our  five  hundred  francs,  you  scamp  !  " 
said  Cardot  to  his  nephew,  "and  remember,  that's  the 
last  penny  you  '11  ever  get  from  me.  Go  and  make  it 
up  with  your  master  if  you  can.  I  '11  return  the  thou- 
sand francs  which  you  borrowed  of  mademoiselle ;  but 
I  '11  never  hear  another  word  about  you." 

Oscar  disappeared,  not  wishing  to  hear  more.  Once 
in  the  street,  however,  he  knew  not  where  to  go. 

Chance  which  destroys  men  and  chance  which  saves 
them  were  both  making  equal  efforts  for  and  against 
Oscar  during  that  fateful  morning.  But  he  was  doomed 
to  fall  before  a  master  who  forgave  no  failure  in  any 
affair  he  had  once  undertaken.  When  Mariette  reached 
home  that  night,  she  felt  alarmed  at  what  might  hap- 
pen to   the  youth  in  whom  her  brother  took  interest 


234  A  Start  in  Life. 

and  she  wrote  a  hasty  note  to  Godeschal,  telling  him 
what  had  happened  to  Oscar  and  inclosing  a  bank  bill 
for  five  hundred  francs  to  repair  his  loss.  The  kind- 
hearted  creature  went  to  sleep  after  charging  her  maid 
to  carry  the  little  note  to  Desroches'  office  before  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Godeschal,  on  his  side,  get- 
ting up  at  six  and  finding  that  Oscar  had  not  returned, 
guessed  what  had  happened.  He  took  the  five  hun- 
dred francs  from  his  own  little  hoard  and  rushed  to 
the  Palais,  where  lie  obtained  a  copy  of  the  judgment 
and  returned  in  time  to  lay  it  before  Desroches  by 
eight  o'clock. 

Meantime  Desroches,  who  alwaj~s  rose  at  four,  was 
in  his  office  by  seven.  Mariette's  maid,  not  finding  the 
brother  of  her  mistress  in  his  bedroom,  came  down  to 
the  office  and  there  met  Desroches,  to  whom  she  very 
naturally  offered  the  note. 

"  Is  it  about  business?  "  he  asked  ;  "lam  Monsieur 
Desroches. 

"  You  can  see,  monsieur,"  replied  the  maid. 

Desroches  opened  the  letter  and  read  it.  Finding  the 
five-hund red-franc  note,  he  went  into  his  private  office 
furiously  ang^  with  his  second  clerk.  About  half- 
past  seven  he  heard  Godeschal  dictating  to  the  second 
head-clerk  a  copy  of  the  document  in  question,  and  a 
few  moments  later  the  good  fellow  entered  his  mas- 
ter's office  with  triumph  in  his  heart. 


A  Start  in  Life.  235 

44  Did  Oscar  Husson  fetch  the  paper  this  morning 
from  Simon?"   inquired  Desroches. 

44  Yes,  monsieur." 

44  Who  gave  him  the  money?" 

44  Why,  you  did,  Saturday,"  replied  Godeschal. 

fc4Then  it  rains  five-hundred-franc  notes,"  cried 
Desroches.  4k  Look  here,  Godeschal,  you  are  a  fine 
fellow,  but  that  little  Husson  does  not  deserve  such 
generosity.  I  hate  idiots,  but  I  hate  still  more  the 
men  who  will  go  wrong  in  spite  of  the  fatherly  care 
which  watches  over  them."  He  gave  Godeschal  Mari- 
ette's  letter  and  the  five-hundred-franc  note  which  she 
had  sent.  44  You  must  excuse  my  having  opened  it," 
he  said,  44  but  your  sister's  maid  told  me  it  was  on 
business.     Dismiss  Husson." 

44  Poor  unhapp}'  boy  !  what  grief  he  has  caused  me  ! 
said  Godeschal,  44  that  tall  ne'er-do-well  of  a  Georges 
Marcst  is  his  evil  genius ;  he  ought  to  flee  him  like 
the  plague ;  if  not,  he  '11  bring  him  to  some  third 
disgrace." 

44  What  do  you  moan  by  that?"  asked  Desroches. 

Godeschal  then  related  briefly  the  affair  of  the  jour- 
ney to  Presles. 

44  Ah!  yes,"  said  the  lawyer,  44 1  remember  Joseph 
Iiridau  told  me  that  story  about  the  time  it  happened. 
It  is  to  that  meeting  that  we  owe  the  favor  Monsieur 
de  Serizy  has  since  shown  in  the  matter  of  Joseph's 
brother,  Philippe  Bridau." 


236  A  Start  in  Life. 

At  this  moment  Moreau,  to  whom  the  case  of  the 
Vandernesse  estate  was  of  much  importance,  entered 
the  office.  The  marquis  wished  to  sell  the  land  in 
parcels  and  the  count  was  opposed  to  such  a  sale. 
The  land-agent  received  therefore  the  first  fire  of  Des- 
roches'  wrath  against  his  ex-second  clerk  and  all  the 
threatening  prophecies  which  he  fulminated  against 
him.  The  result  was  that  this  most  sincere  friend  and 
protector  of  the  unhappy  youth  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  vanity  was  incorrigible. 

"  Make  him  a  barrister,"  said  Desroches.  "  He  has 
only  his  last  examination  to  pass.  In  that  line,  his 
defects  might  prove  virtues,  for  self-love  and  vanity 
give  tongues  to  half  the  attorneys." 

At  this  time  Clapart,  who  was  ill,  was  being  nursed 
by  his  wife,  —  a  painful  task,  a  duty  without  reward. 
The  sick  man  tormented  the  poor  creature,  who  was 
now  doomed  to  learn  what  venomous  and  spiteful  teas- 
ing a  half-imbecile  man,  whom  poverty  had  rendered 
craftil}'  savage,  could  be  capable  of  in  the  weary  tete- 
a-tete  of  each  endless  da}\  Delighted  to* turn  a  sharp- 
ened arrow  in  the  sensitive  heart  of  the  mother,  he  had, 
in  a  measure,  studied  the  fears  that  Oscar's  behavior 
and  defects  inspired  in  the  poor  woman.  When  a 
mother  receives  from  her  child  a  shock  like  that  of 
the  affair  at  Presles,  she  continues  in  a  state  of  con- 
stant  fear,    and,   by   the   manner   in   which   his    wife 


A  Start  in  Life.  237 

boasted  of  Oscar  every  time  he  obtained  the  slightest 
success,  Clapart  knew  the  extent  of  her  secret-  uneasi- 
ness, and  he  took  pains  to  arouse  it  on  ever}'  occasion. 

4-  Well,  Madame,"  Clapart  would  say,  u  Oscar  is  do- 
ing better  than  I  even  hoped.  That  journey  to  Presles 
was  only  a  heedlessness  of  3*011  th.  Where  can  you 
find  young  lads  who  do  not  commit  just  such  faults? 
Poor  child  !  he  bears  his  privations  heroically !  If  his 
father  had  lived,  he  would  never  have  had  an}*.  God 
grant  he  may  know  how  to  control  his  passions !  "  etc., 
etc. 

While  all  these  catastrophes  were  happening  in  the 
rue  de  Vend6me  and  the  rue  de  Bethis}*,  Clapart,  sit- 
ting in  the  chimney  corner,  wrapped  in  an  old  dressing- 
gown,  watched  his  wife,  who  was  engaged  over  the  fire 
in  their  bedroom  in  simultaneously  making  the  fatuity 
broth,  Clapart's  tisane,  and  her  own  breakfast. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  I  wish  I  knew  how  the  affair  of  yes- 
terday ended.  Oscar  was  to  breakfast  at  the  Rocher 
de  Cancale  and  spend  the  evening  with  a  marquise  —  " 

"Don't  trouble  yourself!  Sooner  or  later  you'll 
find  out  about  your  swan,"  said  her  husband.  "Do 
you  really  believe  in  that  marquise?  Pooh!  A  young 
man  who  has  senses  and  a  taste  for  extravagance  like 
Oscar  can  find  such  ladies  as  that  on  every  bush  —  if 
he  pays  for  them.  Some  fine  hiorning  you'll  find 
yourself  with  a  load  of  debt  on  your  back." 


238  A  Start  in  Life. 

"You  are  always  trying  to  put  me  in  despair!" 
cried  Madame  Clapart.  "You  complained  that  my 
son  lived  on  your  salary,  and  never  has  he  cost  you  a 
penny.  For  two  years  you  haven't  had  the  slightest 
cause  of  complaint  against  him;  here  he  is  second 
clerk,  his  uncle  and  Monsieur  Moreau  pay  all  ex- 
penses, and  he  earns,  himself,  a  salary  of  eight  hun- 
dred francs.  If  we  have  bread  to  eat  in  our  old  age  we 
may  owe  it  all  to  that  dear  boy.  You  are  really  too 
unjust  —  " 

"You  call  my  foresight  unjust,  do  you?  "  replied  the 
invalid,  crossly. 

Just  then  the  bell  rang  loudly.  Madame  Clapart  ran 
to  open  the  door,  and  remained  in  the  outer  room  with 
Moreau,  who  had  come  to  soften  the  blow  which 
Oscar's  new  folly  would  deal  to  the  heart  of  his  poor 
mother. 

"What!  he  gambled  with  the  money  of  the  office?" 
she  cried,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  so,  hey  ?  "  said  Clapart,  appearing 
like  a  spectre  at  the  door  of  the  salon  whither  his  curi- 
osity had  brought  him. 

"Oh!  what  shall  we  do  with  him?"  said  Madame 
Clapart,  whose  grief  made  her  impervious  to  Clapart's 
taunt. 

"If  he  bore  my  name,"  replied  Moreau,  "I  should 
wait  composedly  till  he  draws  for  the  conscription,  and 


A  Start  in  Life,  239 

if  he  gets  a  fatal  number  I  should  not  provide  him 
With  a  substitute.  This  is  the  second  time  your  son 
has  committed  a  folly  out  of  sheer  vanity.  Well, 
vanity  may  inspire  fine  deeds  in  war  and  may  advance 
him  in  the  career  of  a  soldier.  Besides,  six  years  of 
military  service  will  put  some  lead  into  his  head;  and 
as  he  has  only  his  last  legal  examination  to  pass,  it 
won't  be  much  ill-luck  for  him  if  he  does  n't  become  a 
lawyer  till  he  is  twenty-six;  that  is,  if  he  wants  to 
continue  in  the  law  after  paying,  as  they  say,  his  tax 
of  blood.  By  that  time,  at  any  rate,  he  will  have  been 
severely  punished,  he  will  have  learned  experience, 
and  contracted  habits  of  subordination.  Before  mak- 
ing his  probation  at  the  bar  he  will  have  gone  through 
his  probation  in  life." 

44 If  that  is  your  decision  for  a  son,"  said  Madame 
Clapart,  "I  see  that  the  heart  of  a  father  is  not  like 
that  of  a  mother.  My  poor  Oscar  a  common  sol- 
dier!—" 

"Would  you  rather  that  he  flung  himself  head- 
foremost into  the  Seine  after  committing  a  dishonor- 
able action?  He  cannot  now  become  a  solicitor;  do 
you  think  him  steady  and  wise  enough  to  be  a  barris- 
ter? No.  While  his  reason  is  maturing,  what  will  ho 
become?  A  dissipated  fellow.  The  discipline  of  the 
army  will,  at  least,  preserve  him  from  that." 

14 Could  he  not  go  into  some  other  office?     His  uncle 


240  A  Start  in  Life. 

Cardot  has  promised  to  pay  for  his  substitute ;  Oscar 
is  to  dedicate  his  graduating  thesis  to  him." 

At  this  moment  carriage-wheels  were  heard,  and  a 
hackney-coach  containing  Oscar  and  all  his  worldly 
belongings  stopped  before  the  door.  The  luckless 
young  man  came  up  at  once. 

uAh!  here  you  are,  Monsieur  Joli-Cceur! "  cried 
Clapart. 

Oscar  kissed  his  mother,  and  held  out  to  Moreau  a 
hand  which  the  latter  refused  to  take.  To  this  rebuff 
Oscar  replied  by  a  reproachful  look,  the  boldness  of 
which  he  had  never  shown  before.  Then  he  turned  on 
Clapart. 

"  Listen  to  me,  monsieur,"  said  the  youth,  trans- 
formed into  a  man.  "You  worry  my  poor  mother 
devilishly,  and  that 's  your  right,  for  she  is,  unfortu- 
nately, your  wife.  But  as  for  me,  it  is  another  thing. 
I  shall  be  of  age  in  a  few  months ;  and  you  have  no 
rights  over  me  even  as  a  minor.  I  have  never  asked 
anything  of  you.  Thanks  to  Monsieur  Moreau,  I  have 
never  cost  you  one  penny,  and  I  owe  you  no  gratitude. 
Therefore,  I  say,  let  me  alone !  " 

Clapart,  hearing  this  apostrophe,  slunk  back  to  his 
sofa  in  the  chimney  corner.  The  reasoning  and  the 
inward  fury  of  the  young  man,  who  had  just  received 
a  lecture  from  his  friend  Godeschal,  silenced  the  imbe- 
cile mind  of  the  sick  man. 


A  Start  in  Life.  241 

"A  momentary  temptation,  such  as  you  yourself 
would  have  yielded  to  at  my  age,"  said  Oscar  to 
Moreau,  "  has  made  me  commit  a  fault  which  Des- 
roches  thinks  serious,  though  it  is  only  a  peccadillo. 
I  am  more  provoked  with  myself  for  taking  Florentine 
of  the  Gaiete  for  a  marquise  than  I  am  for  losing  fif- 
teen hundred  francs  after  a  little  debauch  in  which 
everybody,  even  Godeschal,  was  half-seas  over.  This 
time,  at  any  rate,  I  've  hurt  no  one  but  myself.  I  'm 
cured  of  such  things  forever.  If  you  are  willing  to 
help  me,  Monsieur  Moreau,  I  swear  to  you  that  the 
six  years  I  must  still  stay  a  clerk  before  I  can  get  a 
practice  shall  be  spent  without  —  " 

"Stop  there!''  said  Moreau.  "I  have  three  chil- 
dren, and  I  can  make  no  promises." 

" Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  Madame  Clapart  to 
her  son,  casting  a  reproachful  glance  at  Moreau. 
"  Your  uncle  Cardot  —  " 

"I  have  no  longer  an  uncle  Cardot,"  replied  Oscar, 
who  related  the  scene  in  the  rue  de  Vendome. 

Madame  Clapart,  feeling  her  legs  give  way  under  the 
weight  of  her  body,  staggered  to  a  chair  in  the  dining- 
room,  where  she  fell  as  if  struck  by  lightning. 

" All  the  miseries  together!  "  she  said,  as  she  fainted. 

Moreau  took  the  poor  mother  in  his  arms,  and  car- 
ried her  to  the  bed  in  her  chamber.  Oscar  remained 
motionless,  as  if  crushed. 

16 


242  A  Start  in  Life, 

"There  is  nothing  left  for  you,"  said  Moreau,  com- 
ing back  to  him,  "but  to  make  yourself  a  soldier. 
That  idiot  of  a  Clapart  looks  to  me  as  though  he 
could  n't  live  three  months,  and  then  your  mother  will 
be  without  a  penny.  Ought  I  not,  therefore,  to  re- 
serve for  her  the  little  money  I  am  able  to  give?  It 
was  impossible  to  tell  you  this  before  her.  As  a  sol- 
dier, you  '11  eat  plain  bread  and  reflect  on  life  such  as 
it  is  to  those  who  are  born  into  it  without  fortune." 

"I  may  get  a  lucky  number,"  said  Oscar. 

"Suppose  you  do,  what  then?  Your  mother  has  well 
fulfilled  her  duty  toward  you.  She  gave  you  an  educa- 
tion; she  placed  you  on  the  right  road,  and  secured 
you  a  career.  You  have  left  it.  Now,  what  can  you 
do?  Without  money,  nothing;  as  you  know  by  this 
time.  You  are  not  a  man  who  can  begin  a  new  career 
by  taking  off  your  coat  and  going  to  work  in  your 
shirt-sleeves  with  the  tools  of  an  artisan.  Besides, 
your  mother  loves  you,  and  she  would  die  to  see.  you 
come  to  that." 

Oscar  sat  down  and  no  longer  restrained  his  tears, 
which  flowed  copiously.  At  last  he  understood  this 
language,  so  completely  unintelligible  to  him  ever 
since  his  first  fault. 

"Men  without  means  ought  to  be  perfect,"  added 
Moreau,  not  suspecting  the  profundity  of  that  cruel 
sentence. 


A  Start  in  Life.  243 

"My  fate  will  soon  be  decided,"  said  Oscar.  UI 
draw  my  number  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Between 
now  and  then  I  will  decide  upon  my  future." 

Moreau,  deeply  distressed  in  spite  of  his  stern  bear- 
ing, left  the  household  in  the  rue  de  la  Cerisaie  to  its 
despair. 

Three  days  later  Oscar  drew  the  number  twenty- 
seven.  In  the  interests  of  the  poor  lad  the  former 
steward  of  Presles  had  the  courage  to  go  to  the  Comte 
de  Serizy  and  ask  for  his  influence  to  get  Oscar  into 
the  cavalry.  It  happened  that  the  count's  son,  having 
left  the  Bcole  Polytechnique  rather  low  in  his  class, 
was  appointed,  as  a  favor,  sub- lieutenant  in  a  regi- 
ment of  cavalry  commanded  by  the  Due  de  Maufri- 
gneuse.  Oscar  had,  therefore,  in  his  great  misfortune, 
the  small  luck  of  being,  at  the  Comte  de  Serizy's  insti- 
gation, drafted  into  that  noble  regiment,  with  the 
promise  of  promotion  to  quartermaster  within  a  year. 
Chance  had  thus  placed  the  ex-clerk  under  the  com- 
mand of  the  son  of  the  Comte  de  Serizy. 

Madame  Clapart,  after  languishing  for  some  days, 
so  keenly  was  she  affected  by  these  catastrophes, 
became  a  victim  to  the  remorse  which  seizes  upon  many 
a  mother  whose  conduct  has  been  frail  in  her  youth, 
and  who,  in  her  old  age,  turns  to  repentance.  She 
now  considered  herself  under  a  curse.  She  attributed 
the  sorrows  of  her  second  marriage  and  the  misfcrt.unes 


244  A  Start  in  Life. 

of  her  son  to  a  just  retribution  by  which  God  was  com- 
pelling her  to  expiate  the  errors  and  pleasures  of  her 
youth.  This  opinion  soon  became  a  certainty  to  her 
mind.  The  poor  woman  went,  for  the  first  time  in 
forty  years,  to  confess  herself  to  the  Abbe  Gaudron, 
vicar  of  Saint-Paul's,  who  led  her  into  the  practice  of 
devotion.  But  so  ill-used  and  loving  a  soul  as  that  of 
Madame  Clapart  could  never  be  anything  but  simply 
pious.  The  Aspasia  of  the  Directory  wanted  to  expi- 
ate her  sins  in  order  to  draw  down  the  blessing  of  God 
on  the  head  of  her  poor  Oscar,  and  she  henceforth 
vowed  herself  to  works  and  deeds  of  the  purest  piety. 
She  believed  she  had  won  the  attention  of  heaven  when 
she  saved  the  life  of  Monsieur  Clapart,  who,  thanks  to 
her  devotion,  lived  on  to  torture  her ;  but  she  chose  to  see, 
in  the  tyranny  of  that  imbecile  mind,  a  trial  inflicted 
by  the  hand  of  one  who  loveth  while  he  chasteneth. 

Oscar,  meantime,  behaved  so  well  that  in  1830  he 
was  first  sergeant  of  the  company  of  the  Vicomte  de 
Serizy,  which  gave  him  the  rank  of  sub-lieutenant  of 
the  line.  Oscar  Husson  was  by  that  time  twenty-five 
years  old.  As  the  Royal  Guard,  to  which  his  regiment 
was  attached,  was  always  in  garrison  in  Paris,  or 
within  a  circumference  of  thirty  miles  around  the  cap- 
ital, he  came  to  see  his  mother  from, time  to  time,  and 
tell  her  his  griefs ;  for  he  had  the  sense  to  see  that  he 
could  never  become  an  officer  as  matters  then  were. 


A  Start  in  Life.  245 

At  that  time  the  cavalry  grades  were  all  being  taken  up 
1)\  the  younger  sons  of  noble  families,  and  men  without 
the  article  to  their  names  found  promotion  difficult. 
Oscar's  sole  ambition  was  to  leave  the  Guards  and  be 
appointed  sub-lieutenant  in  a  regiment  of  the  cavalry 
of  the  line.  In  the  month  of  February,  1830,  Madame 
Clapart  obtained  this  promotion  for  her  son  through 
the  influence  of  Madame  la  Dauphine,  granted  to  the 
Abbe  Gaudron,  now  rector  of  Saint-Paul's. 

Although  Oscar  outwardly  professed  to  be  devoted 
to  the  Bourbons,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  he  was  a 
liberal.  Therefore,  in  the  struggle  of  1830,  he  went 
over  to  the  side  of  the  people.  This  desertion,  which 
had  an  importance  due  to  the  crisis  in  which  it  took 
place,  brought  him  before  the  eyes  of  the  public. 
During  the  excitement  of  triumph  in  the  month  of 
August  he  was  promoted  lieutenant,  received  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  honor,  and  was  attached  as  aide-de- 
camp to  La  Fayette,  who  gave  him  the  rank  of  captain 
in  1832.  When  the  amateur  of  the  best  of  all  possible 
republics  was  removed  from  the  command  of  the 
National  guard,  Oscar  Husson,  whose  devotion  to  the 
new  dynasty  amounted  to  fanaticism,  was  appointed 
major  of  a  regiment  sent  to  Africa  at  the  time  of  the 
first  expedition  undertaken  by  the  Prince-royal.  The 
Vicomte  de  Se'rizy  chanced  to  be  the  lieutenant-colonel 
of  this  regiment.     At  the  affair  of  the  Makta,  where 


246  A  Start  in  Life. 

the  field  had  to  be  abandoned  to  the  Arabs,  Monsieur 
de  Serizy  was  left  wounded  under  a  dead  horse. 
Oscar,  discovering  this,  called  out  to  the  squadron : 

"  Messieurs,   it   is  going  to  death,    but    we   cannot 
abandon  our  colonel." 

He  dashed  upon  the  enemy,  and  his  electrified  sol- 
diers followed  him.  The  Arabs,  in  their  first  astonish- 
ment at  this  furious  and  unlooked-for  return,  allowed 
Oscar  to  seize  the  viscount,  whom  he  flung  across  his 
horse,  and  carried  off  at  full  gallop,  —  receiving,  as  he 
did  so,  two  slashes  from  yataghans  on  his  left  arm. 

Oscar's  conduct  on  this  occasion  was  rewarded  with 
the  officer's  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor,  and  by  his 
promotion  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel.  He  took 
the  most  affectionate  care  of  the  Vicomte  de  Serizy, 
whose  mother  came  to  meet  him  on  the  arrival  of  the 
regiment  at  Toulon,  where,  as  we  know,  the  young 
mau  died  of  his  wounds. 

The  Comtesse  de  Serizy  had  not  separated  her  son 
from  the  man  who  had  shown  him  such  devotion. 
Oscar  himself  was  so  seriously  wounded  that  the 
surgeons  whom  the  countess  had  brought  with  her 
from  Paris  thought  best  to  amputate  his  left  arm. 

Thus  the  Comte  de  Serizy  was  led  not  only  to  for- 
give Oscar  for  his  painful  remarks  on  the  journey  to 
Presles,  but  to  feel  himself  his  debtor  on  behalf  of  his 
son,  now  buried  in  the  chapel  of  the  chateau  de  Serizy. 


A  Mart  in  Life.  247 


XI. 

oscar's  last  blunder. 

Some  years  after  the  affair  at  Makta,  an  old  lady, 
dressed  in  black,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  man  about 
thirty- four  years  of  age,  in  whom  observers  would 
recognize  a  retired  officer,  from  the  loss  of  an  arm  and 
the  rosette  of  the  Legion  of  honor  in  his  button-hole, 
was  standing,  at  eight  o'clock,  one  morning  in  the 
month  of  May,  under  the  porte-cochere  of  the  Lion 
d'Argent,  rue  du  Faubourg  Saint-Denis,  waiting, 
apparently,  for  the  departure  of  a  diligence.  Undoubt- 
edly Pierrotin,  the  master  of  the  line  of  coaches  run- 
ning through  the  valley  of  the  Oise  (despatching  one 
through  Saint-Leu-Taverny  and  Isle-Adam  to  Beau- 
mont), would  scarcely  have  recognized  in  this  bronzed 
and  maimed  officer  the  little  Oscar  Husson  he  had 
formerly  taken  to  Presles.  Madame  Husson,  at  last  a 
widow,  was  as  little  recognizable  as  her  son.  Clapart, 
a  victim  of  Fieschi's  machine,  had  served  his'  wife 
better  by  death  than  by  all  his  previous  life.  The  idle 
lounger  was  tanging  about,  as  usual,  on  the  boulevard 
du  Temple,  gazing  at  the  show,  when  the  explosion 
came.     The  poor  widow  was  put  upon  the  pension  list. 


248  A  Start  in  Life. 

made  expressly  for  the  families  of  the  victim,  at  fifteen 
hundred  francs  a  year. 

The  coach,  to  which  were  harnessed  four  iron-gray 
horses  that  would  have  done  honor  to  the  Messageries- 
royales,  was  divided  into  three  compartments,  coupe, 
interieur,  and  rotonde,  with  an  imperiale  above.  It 
resembled  those  diligences  called  "Gondoles,"  which 
now  ply,  in  rivalry  with  the  railroad,  between  Paris 
and  Versailles.  Both  solid  and  light,  well-painted  and 
well-kept,  lined  with  fine  blue  cloth,  and  furnished  with 
blinds  of  a  Moorish  pattern  and  cushions  of  red 
morocco,  the  "Swallow  of  the  Oise"  could  carry,  com- 
fortably, nineteen  passengers.  Pierrotin,  now  about 
fifty-six  years  old,  was  little  changed.  Still  dressed 
in  a  blue  blouse,  beneath  which  he  wore  a  black  suit, 
he  smoked  his  pipe,  and  superintended  the  two  porters 
in  livery,  who  were  stowing  away  the  luggage  in  the 
great  imperiale. 

"Are  your  places  taken?  "  he  said  to  Madame 
Clapart  and  Oscar,  eying  them  like  a  man  who  is 
trying  to  recall  a  likeness  to  his  memory. 

"Yes,  two  places  for  the  interieur  in  the  name  of  my 
servant,  Bellejambe,"  replied  Oscar;  "he  must  have 
taken  them  last  evening." 

"Ah!  monsieur  is  the  new  collector  of  Beaumont," 
said  Pierrotin.  "You  take  the  place  of  Monsieur 
Margueron's  nephew?" 


A  Start  in  Life.  249 

"Yes,"  replied  Oscar,  pressing  the  arm  of  his 
mother,  who  was  about  to  speak. 

The  officer  wished  to  remain  unknown  for  a  time. 

Just  then  Oscar  thrilled  at  hearing  the  well- 
remembered  voice  of  Georges  Marest  calling  out  from 
the  street:  "Pierrotin,  have  you  one  seat  left?" 

"It  seems  to  me  you  could  say  '  monsieur'  without 
cracking  your  throat,"  replied  the  master  of  the  line 
of  coaches  of  the  Valley  of  the  Oise,  sharply. 

Unless  by  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Oscar  could  never 
have  recognized  the  individual  whose  jokes  had  been 
so  fatal  to  him.  Georges,  almost  bald,  retained  only 
three  or  four  tufts  of  hair  above  his  ears;  but  these 
were  elaborately  frizzed  out  to  conceal,  as  best  they 
could,  the  nakedness  of  the  skull.  A  fleshiness  ill- 
placed,  in  other  words,  a  pear-shaped  stomach,  altered 
the  once  elegant  proportions  of  the  ex-young  man. 
Now  almost  ignoble  in  appearance  and  bearing, 
Georges  exhibited  the  traces  of  disasters  in  love  and  a 
life  of  debauchery  in  his  blotched  skin  and  bloated, 
vinous  features.  The  eyes  had  lost  the  brilliancy,  the 
vivacity  of  youth  which  chaste  or  studious  habits  have 
the  virtue  to  retain.  Dressed  like  a  man  who  is  care- 
less of  his  clothes,  Georges  wore  a  pair  of  shabby 
trousers,  with  straps  intended  for  varnished  boots;  but 
his  were  of  leather,  thick-soled,  ill-blacked,  and  of 
many    months'  wear.     A   faded  waistcoat,  a   cravat, 


250  A  Start  in  Life. 

pretentiously  tied,  although  the  material  was  a  worn- 
out  foulard,  bespoke  the  secret  distress  to  which  a 
former  dandy  sometimes  falls  a  prey.  Moreover, 
Georges  appeared  at  this  hour  of  the  morning  in  an 
evening  coat,  instead  of  a  surtout;  a  sure  diagnostic 
of  actual  poverty.  This  coat,  which  had  seen  long 
service  at  balls,  had  now,  like  its  master,  passed  from 
the  opulent  ease  of  former  times  to  daily  work.  The 
seams  of  the  black  cloth  showed  whitening  lines;  the 
collar  was  greasy ;  long  usage  had  frayed  the  edges  of 
the  sleeves  into  fringes. 

And  yet,  Georges  ventured  to  attract  attention  by 
yellow  kid  gloves,  rather  dirty,  it  is  true,  on  the  out- 
side of  which  a  signet  ring  defined  a  large  dark  spot. 
Round  his  cravat,  which  was  slipped  into  a  preten- 
tious gold  ring,  was  a  chain  of  silk,  representing  hair, 
which,  no  doubt,  held  a  watch.  His  hat,  though  worn 
rather  jauntily,  revealed,  more  than  any  of  the  above 
symptoms,  the  poverty  of  a  man  who  was  totally 
unable  to  pay  sixteen  francs  to  a  hat-maker,  being 
forced  to  live  from  hand  to  mouth.  The  former  ad- 
mirer of  Florentine  twirled  a  cane  with  a  chased  gold 
knob,  which  was  horribly  battered.  The  blue  trousers, 
the  waistcoat  of  a  material  called  "Scotch  stuff,"  a 
sky-blue  cravat  and  a  pink- striped  cotton  shirt,  ex- 
pressed, in  the  midst  of  all  this  ruin,  such  a  latent 
desire  to  show-off  that  the  contrast  was  not  only  a 
sight  to  see,  but  a  lesson  to  be  learned. 


A  Start  in  Life.  251 

"And  that  is  Georges!"  said  Oscar,  in  his  own 
mind, — "a  man  I  left  in  possession  of  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year!  " 

"Has  Monsieur  de  Pierrotin  a  place  in  the  coupe?" 
asked  Georges,  ironically  replying  to  Pierrotin' s 
rebuff. 

" No;  my  coupe"  is  taken  by  a  peer  of  France,  the 
son-in-law  of  Monsieur  Moreau,  Monsieur  le  Baron  de 
Canalis,  his  wife,  and  his  mother-in-law.  I  have 
nothing  left  but  one  place  in  the  interieur." 

"  The  devil !  so  peers  of  France  still  travel  in  your 
coach,  do  they  ?  "  said  Georges,  remembering  his  ad- 
venture with  the  Comte  de  S£rizy.  "Well,  I'll  take 
that  place  in  the  interieur." 

He  cast  a  glance  of  examination  on  Oscar  and  his 
mother,  but  did  not  recognize  them. 

Oscar's  skin  was  now  bronzed  by  the  sun  of  Africa; 
his  moustache  was  very  thick  and  his  whiskers  ample; 
the  hollows  in  his  cheeks  and  his  strongly  marked  fea- 
tures were  in  keeping  with  his  military  bearing.  The 
rosette  of  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  honor,  his  missing 
arm,  the  strict  propriety  of  his  dress,  would  all  have 
diverted  Georges'  recollections  of  his  former  victim  if 
he  had  had  any.  r  As  for  Madame  Clapart,  whom 
Georges  had  scarcely  seen,  ten  years  devoted  to  the 
exercise  of  the  most  severe  piety  had  transformed 
her.  No  one  would  ever  have  imagined  that  that  gray 
sister  concealed  the  Aspasia  of  1797. 


9n9 


A  Start  in  Life. 


An  enormous  old  man,  very  simply  dressed,  though 
his  clothes  were  good  and  substantial,  in  whom  Oscar 
recognized  Pere  Leger,  here  came  slowly  and  heavily 
along.  He  nodded  familiarly  to  Pierrotin,  who  ap- 
peared by  his  manner  to  pay  him  the  respect  due  in  all 
lands  to  millionnaires." 

"Ha!  ha!  why,  here's  Pere  Leger!  more  and  more 
preponderant !  "  cried  Georges. 

"  To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  ?  "  asked 
old  Leger,  curtly. 

"What!  you  don't  recognize  Colonel  Georges,  the 
friend  of  Ali  pacha?  We  travelled  together  once  upon 
a  time,  in  company  with  the  Comte  de  Serizy." 

One  of  the  habitual  follies  of  those  who  have  fallen 
in  the  world  is  to  recognize  and  desire  the  recognition 
of  others. 

"You  are  much  changed,"  said  the  ex-farmer,  now 
twice  a  millionnaire. 

"All  things  change,"  said  Georges.  "Look  at  the 
Lion  d' Argent  and  Pierrotin's  coach;  they  are  not  a 
bit  like  what  they  were  fourteen  years  ago." 

"Pierrotin  now  controls  the  whole  service  of  the 
Valley  of  the  Oise,"  replied  Monsieur  Leger,  "and 
sends  out  five  coaches.  He  is  the  bourgeois  of  Beau- 
mont, where  he  keeps  a  hotel,  at  which  all  the  dili- 
gences stop,  and  he  has  a  wife  and  daughter  who  are 
not  a  bad  help  to  him." 


A  Start  in  Life.  253 

An  old  man  of  seventy  here  came  out  of  the  hotel  and 
joined  the  group  of  travellers  who  were  waiting  to  get 
into  the  coach. 

"Come  along,  papa  Reybert,"  said  Leger,  uwe  are 
only  waiting  now  for  your  great  man." 

44 Here  he  comes,"  said  the  steward  of  Presles,  point- 
ing to  Joseph  Bridau. 

Neither  Georges  nor  Oscar  recognized  the  illustrious 
artist,  for  his  face  had  the  worn  and  haggard  lines 
that  were  now  famous,  and  his  bearing  was  that  which 
is  given  by  success.  The  ribbon  of  the"  Legion  of 
honor  adorned  his  black  coat,  and  the  rest  of  his  dress, 
which  was  extremely  elegant,  seemed  to  denote  an  ex- 
pedition to  some  rural  fete. 

At  this  moment  a  clerk,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand, 
came  out  of  the  office  (which  was  now  in  the  former 
kitchen  of  the  Lion  d'Argent),  and  stood  before  the 
door  of  the  empty  coupe. 

44 Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Canalis,  three  places," 
he  said.  Then,  moving  to  the  door  of  the  interieur, 
he  named,  consecutively,  44  Monsieur  Bellejambe,  two 
places;  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  three  places;  Monsieur, 
—  your  name,  if  you  please?"  he  said  to  Georges. 

44Georges  Marest,"  said  the  fallen  man,  in  a  low 
voice. 

The  clerk  then  moved  to  the  rotonde,  before  which 
were  grouped  a  number  of  nurses,  country-people,  and 


254  A  Start  in  Life. 

petty  shopkeepers,  who  were  bidding  each  other  adieu. 
Then,  after  bundling  in  the  six  passengers,  he  called 
to  four  young  men  who  mounted  to  the  imperial ;  after 
which  he  cried:  "Start!"  Pierrotin  got  up  beside 
his  driver,  a  young  man  in  a  blouse,  who  called  out : 
"Pull !  "  to  his  animals,  and  the  vehicle,  drawn  by  four 
horses  bought  at  Roye,  mounted  the  rise  of  the  fau- 
bourg Saint-Denis  at  a  slow  trot. 

But  no  sooner  had  it  got  above  Saint-Laurent  than  it 
raced  like  a  mail-cart  to  Saint-Denis,  which  it  reached 
in  forty  minutes.  No  stop  was  made  at  the  cheese- 
cake inn,  and  the  coach  took  the  road  through  the  valley 
of  Montmorency. 

It  was  at  the  turn  into  this  road  that  Georges  broke 
the  silence  which  the  travellers  had  so  far  maintained 
while  observing  each  other. 

"We  go  a  little  faster  than  we  did  fifteen  years  ago, 
hey,  Pere  Leger?  "  he  said,  pulling  out  a  silver  'watch. 

"Persons  are  usually  good  enough  to  call  me  Mon- 
sieur Leger,"  said  the  millionnaire. 

"Why,  here  's  our  blagueur  of  the  famous  journey  to 
Presles,"  cried  Joseph  Briclau.  "Have  you  made  any 
new  campaigns  in  Asia,  Africa,  or  America?" 

"  Sacrebleu  !  I  've  made  the  revolution  of  July,  and 
that's  enough  for  me,  for  it  ruined  me." 

"Ah!  you  made  the  revolution  of  July!"  cried  the 
painter,  laughing.  "  Well,  I  always  said  it  never  made 
itself." 


A  Start  in  Life.  255 

"How  people  meet  again!"  said  Monsieur  Leger, 
turning  to  Monsieur  de  Reybert  "This,  papa  Rey- 
bert,  is  the  clerk  of  the  notary  to  whom  you  undoubt- 
edly owe  the  stewardship  of  Presles." 

"  We  lack  Mistigris,  now  famous  under  his  own  name 
of  Leon  de  Lora,"  said  Joseph  Bridau,  "and  the  little 
young  man  who  was  stupid  enough  to  talk  to  the  count 
about  those  skin  diseases  which  are  now  cured,  and 
about  his  wife,  whom  he  has  recently  left  that  he  may 
die  in  peace." 

"And  the  count  himself,  you  lack  him,"  said  old 
Reybert. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Joseph  Bridau,  sadly,  "that  the 
last  journey  the  count  will  ever  take  will  be  from 
Presles  to  Isle- Adam,  to  be  present  at  my  marriage." 

"He  still  drives  about  the  park,"  said  Reybert. 

"Does  his  wife  come  to  see  him?  "  asked  Leger. 

"Once  a  month,"  replied  Reybert.  "She  is  never 
happy  out  of  Paris.  Last  September  she  married  her 
niece,  Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre,  on  whom,  since  the 
death  of  her  son,  she  spends  all  her  affection,  to  a  very 
rich  young  Pole,  the  Comte  Laginski." 

"To  whom,"  asked  Madame  Clapart,  "will  Monsieur 
de  Serizy's  property  go?  " 

"To  his  wife,  who  will  bury  him,"  replied  Georges. 
"The  countess  is  still  line-looking  for  a  woman  of 
fifty-four  years  of  age.  She  is  very  elegant,  and,  at  a 
little  distance,  gives  one  the  illusion  —  " 


256  A  Start  in  Life. 

" She  will  always  be  an  illusion  to  you,"  said  Leger, 
who  seemed  inclined  to  revenge  himself  on  his  former 
hoaxer. 

"I  respect  her,"  replied  Georges.  "But,  by  the 
bye,  what  became  of  that  steward  whom  the  count 
turned  off  ?  " 

"Moreau?  "  said  Leger;  "why,  he  's  the  deputy  from 
the  Oise." 

"Ha!  the  famous  Centre  man;  Moreau  de  l'Oise?" 
cried  Georges. 

"Yes,"  returned  Leger,  "Moreau  de  FOise.  He 
did  more  than  you  for  the  revolution  of  July,  and  he 
has  since  bought  the  beautiful  estate  of  Pointel,  be- 
tween Presles  and  Beaumont." 

"Next  to  the  count's,"  said  Georges.  "I  call  that 
very  bad  taste." 

"Don't  speak  so  loud,"  said  Monsieur  de  Reybert, 
"for  Madame  Moreau  and  her  daughter,  the  Baronne 
de  Canalis,  and  the  Baron  himself,  the  former  minis- 
ter, are  in  the  coupe." 

"What  dot  could  he  have  given  his  daughter  to  in- 
duce our  great  orator  to  marry  her?  "  said  Georges. 

"Something  like  two  millions,"  replied  old  Leger. 

"He  always  had  a  taste  for  millions,"  remarked 
Georges.  "He  began  his  pile  surreptitiously  at 
Presles  —  " 

"Say   nothing    against   Monsieur    Moreau,"    cried 


A  Start  in  Life.  257 

Oscar,  hastily.     "You  ought  to  have  learned   before 
now  to  hold  your  tongue  in  public  conveyances." 

Joseph  Bridau  looked  at  the  one-armed  officer  for 
several  seconds ;  then  he  said,  smiling :  — 

"Monsieur  is  not  an  ambassador,  but  his  rosette 
tells  us  he  has  made  his  way  nobly ;  my  brother  and 
General  Giroudeau  have  repeatedly  named  him  in  their 
reports." 

"Oscar  Husson!"  cried  Georges.  "Faith!  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  your  voice  I  should  never  have  known 
you." 

"Ah!  it  was  monsieur  who  so  bravely  rescued  the 
Vicomte  Jules  de  Se'rizy  from  the  Arabs?"  said  Rey- 
bert,"  and  for  whom  the  count  has  obtained  the  collec- 
torship  of  Beaumont  while  awaiting  that  of  Pontoise?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  Oscar. 

"I  hope  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure,  monsieur," 
said  the  great  painter,  "of  being  present  at  my  mar- 
riage at  Isle- Adam." 

"Whom  do  you  marry?"  asked  Oscar,  after  accept- 
ing the  invitation. 

"Mademoiselle  Le'ger,"  replied  Joseph  Bridau,  "the 
granddaughter  of  Monsieur  de  Reybert.  Monsieur  le 
comte  was  kind  enough  to  arrange  the  marriage  for 
me.  As  an  artist  I  owe  him  a  great  deal,  and  he 
wished,  before  his  death,  to  secure  my  future,  about 
which  I  did  not  think,  myself." 

17 


258  A  Start  in  Life. 

"Whom  did  Pere  Leger  marry?"  asked  Georges. 

"My  daughter,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Reybert,  uand 
without  a  dot." 

"Ah!"  said  Georges,  assuming  a  more  respectful 
manner  towards  Monsieur  Leger,  "I  am  fortunate 
in  having  chosen  this  particular  day  to  do  the  val- 
ley of  the  Oise.  You  can  all  be  useful  to  me,  gen- 
tlemen." 

"How  so?"  asked  Monsieur  Leger. 

"In  this  way,"  replied  Georges.  "I  am  employed 
by  the  i  Esperance, '  a  company  just  formed,  the  stat- 
utes of  which  have  been  approved  by  an  ordinance  of 
the  King.  This  institution  gives,  at  the  end  Of  ten 
years,  dowries  to  young  girls,  annuities  to  old  men; 
it  pays  the  education  of  children,  and  takes  charge, 
in  short,  of  the  fortunes  of  everybody." 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  said  Pere  Leger,  smiling. 
"In  a  word,  you  are  a  runner  for  an  insurance 
company." 

"No,  monsieur.  I  am  the  inspector-general ;  charged 
with  the  duty  of  establishing  correspondents  $md  ap- 
pointing the  agents  of  the  company  throughout  France. 
I  am  only  operating  until  the  agents  are  selected ;  for 
it  is  a  matter  as  delicate  as  it  is  difficult  to  find  honest 
agents." 

"But  how  did  you  lose  your  thirty  thousand  a  year?  " 
asked  Oscar. 


A  Start  in  Life.  259 

"As  you  lost  your  arm,"  replied  the  sou  of  Czerni- 
Georges,  curtly. 

"Then  you  must  have  shared  in  some  brilliant 
action,"  remarked  Oscar,  with  a  sarcasm  not  unmixed 
with  bitterness. 

"Parbleu!  I've  too  many  —  shares!  that's  just 
what  I  want  to  sell." 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  Saint-Leu-Taverny, 
where  all  the  passengers  got  out  while  the  coach 
changed  horses.  Oscar  admired  the  liveliness  which 
Pierrotin  displayed  in  unhooking  the  traces  from  the 
whiffle-trees,  while  his  driver  cleared  the  reins  from 
the  leaders. 

"Poor  Pierrotin,"  thought  he;  "he  has  stuck  like 
me, — not  far  advanced  in  the  world.  Georges  has 
fallen  low.  All  the  others,  thanks  to  speculation  and 
to  talent,  have  made  their  fortune.  Do  we  breakfast 
here,  Pierrotin?"  he  said,  aloud,  slapping  that  worthy 
on  the  shoulder. 

"I  am  not  the  driver,"  said  Pierrotin. 

"What  are  you,  then?"  asked  Colonel  Husson. 

"The  proprietor,"  replied  Pierrotin. 

"Come,  don!t  be  vexed  with  an  old  acquaintance," 
said  Oscar,  motioning  to  his  mother,  but  still  retain- 
ing his  patronizing  manner.  "Don't  you  recognize 
Madame  Clapart?" 

It  was  all  the  nobler  of  Oscar  to  present  his  mother 


260  A  Start  in  Life. 

to  Pierrotin,  because,  at  that  moment,  Madame  Moreau 
de  l'Oise,  getting  out  of  the  coupe,  overheard  the  name, 
and  stared  disdainfully  at  Oscar  and  his  mother. 

"My  faith!  madame,"  said  Pierrotin,  "I  should 
never  have  known  you ;  nor  you,  either,  monsieur ;  the 
sun  burns  black  in  Africa,  doesn't  it?" 

The  species  of  pity  which  Oscar  thus  felt  for  Pier- 
rotin was  the  last  blunder  that  vanity  ever  led  our  hero 
to  commit  and,  like  his  other  faults,  it  was  punished, 
but  very  gently,  thus :  — 

Two  months  after  his  official  installation  at 
Beaumont-sur-Oise,  Oscar  was  paying  his  addresses 
to  Mademoiselle  Georgette  Pierrotin,  whose  dot 
amounted  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs, 
and  he  married  the  pretty  daughter  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  stage-coaches  of  the  Oise,  toward  the  close  of 
the  winter  of  1838. 

The  adventure  of  the  journey  to  Presles  was  a  lesson 
to  Oscar  Husson  in  discretion ;  his  disaster  at  Floren- 
tine's card-party  strengthened  him  in  honesty  and 
uprightness;  the  hardships  of  his  military  career 
taught  him  to  understand  the  social  hierarchy  and  to 
yield  obedience  to  his  lot.  Becoming  wise  and  capable, 
he  was  happy.  The  Comte  de  Serizy,  before  his  death, 
obtained  for  him  the  collectorship  at  Pontoise.  The 
influence  of  Monsieur  Moreau  de  l'Oise  and  that  of 
the   Comtesse   de   Serizy   and   the  Baron  de  Canal  is 


A  Start  in  Life.  2G1 

secured,  in  after  years,  a  receiver-generalship  for 
Monsieur  Husson,  in  whom  the  Camusot  family  now 
recognize  a  relation. 

Oscar  is  a  commonplace  man,  gentle,  without  as- 
sumption, modest,  and  always  keeping,  like  his  gov- 
ernment, to  a  middle  course.  He  excites  neither  envy 
nor  contempt.     In  short,  he  is  the  modern  bourgeois. 


VENDETTA. 


VENDETTA 


To   Puttinati,  Milanese   Sculptor. 


prologue. 


In  the  year  1800,  toward  the  close  of  October,  a  for- 
eigner, accompanied  by  a  woman  and  a  little  girl,  was 
standing  for  a  long  time  in  front  of  the  palace  of  the 
Tuileries,  near  the  ruins  of  a  house  recently  pulled 
down,  at  the  point  where  in  our  day  the  wing  begins 
which  was  intended  to  unite  the  chateau  of  Catherine 
de  Medici  with  the  Louvre  of  the  Valois. 

The  man  stood  there  with  folded  arms  and  a  bowed 
head,  which  he  sometimes  raised  to  look  alternatel}'  at 
the  consular  palace  and  at  his  wife,  who  was  sitting 
near  him  on  a  stone.  Though  the  woman  seemed 
wholly  occupied  witli  the  little  girl  of  nine  or  ten  years 
of  age,  whose  long  black  hair  she  amused  herself  b}r 
handling,  she  lost  not  a  single  glance  of  those  her  com- 


266  Vendetta. 

panion  cast  on  her.  Some  sentiment  other  than  love 
united  these  two  beings,  and  inspired  with  mutual  anx- 
iety their  movements  and  their  thoughts.  Misery  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  powerful  of  all  ties. 

The  stranger  had  one  of  those  broad,  serious  heads, 
covered  with  thick  hair,  which  we  see  so  frequently  in 
the  pictures  of  the  Caracci.  The  jet  black  of  the  hair 
was  streaked  with  white.  Though  noble  and  proud,  his 
features  had  a  hardness  which  spoiled  them.  In  spite 
of  his  evident  strength,  and  his  straight,  erect  figure, 
he  looked  to  be  over  sixty  years  of  age.  His  dilapi- 
dated clothes  were  those  of  a  foreign  country.  Though 
the  faded  and  once  beautiful  face  of  the  wife  betrayed 
the  deepest  sadness,  she  forced  herself  to  smile,  assum- 
ing a  calm  countenance  whenever  her  husband  looked 
at  her. 

The  little  girl  was  standing,  though  signs  of  weari- 
ness were  on  the  youthful  face,  which  was  tanned  by  the 
sun.  She  had  an  Italian  cast  of  countenance  and  bear- 
ing, large  black  ej-es  beneath  their  well  arched  brows, 
a  native  nobleness,  and  candid  grace.  More  than  one 
of  those  who  passed  them  felt  strongly  moved  by  the 
mere  aspect  of  this  group,  who  made  no  effort  to  con- 
ceal a  despair  which  seemed  as  deep  as  the  expression 
of  it  was  simple.  But  the  flow  of  this  fugitive  s}"m- 
pathy,  characteristic  of  Parisians,  was  dried  immedi- 
ately ;    for  as  soon  as  the  stranger  saw  himself   the 


Vendetta.  267 

object  of  attention,  he  looked  at  his  observer  with  so 
Savage  an  air  that  the  boldest  lounger  hurried  his  step 
as  though  he  had  trod  upon  a  serpent. 

After  standing  for  some  time  undecided,  the  tall 
stranger  suddenly  passed  his  hand  across  his  face  to 
brush  away,  as  it  were,  the  thoughts  that  were  plough- 
ing furrows  in  it.  He  must  have  taken  some  desperate 
resolution.  Casting  a  glance  upon  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, he  drew  a  dagger  from  his  breast  and  gave  it  to  his 
companion,  saying  in  Italian  :  — 

"  I  will  see  if  the  Bonapartes  remember  us." 

Then  he  walked  with  a  slow,  determined  step  toward 
the  entrance  of  the  palace,  where  he  was,  naturally, 
stopped  by  a  soldier  of  the  consular  guard,  with  whom 
he  was  not  permitted  a  long  discussion.  Seeing  the  man's 
obstinate  determination,  the  sentinel  presented  his  bay- 
onet in  the  form  of  an  ultimatum.  Chance  willed  that 
the  guard  was  changed  at  that  moment,  and  the  corpo- 
ral ver3T  obligingly  pointed  oiit  to  the  stranger  the  spot 
where  the  commander  of  the  post  was  standing. 

44  Let  Bonaparte  know  that  Bartolomeo  di  Piombo 
wishes  to  speak  with  him,"  said  the  Italian  to  the  cap- 
tain on  duty. 

In  vain  the  officer  represented  to  Bartolomeo  that  he 
could  not  see  the  First  Consul  without  having  previously 
requested  an  audience  in  writing;  the  Italian  insisted 
that  the  soldier  should  go  to  Bonaparte.     The  officer 


268       '  Vendetta. 

stated  the  rules  of  the  post,  and  refused  to  comply  with 
the  order  of  this  singular  visitor.  Bartolomeo  frowned 
heavily,  casting  a  terrible  look  at  the  captain,  as  if  he 
made  him  responsible  for  the  misfortunes  that  this  re- 
fusal might  occasion.  Then  he  kept  silence,  folded  his 
arms  tightly  across  his  breast,  and  took  up  his  station 
under  the  portico  which  serves  as  an  avenue  of  com- 
munication between  the  garden  and  the  court-yard  of  the 
Tuileries.  Persons  who  will  things  intensely  are  very 
apt  to  be  helped  by  chance.  At  the  moment  when 
Bartolomeo  di  Piombo  seated  himself  on  one  of  the 
stone  posts  which  was  near  the  entrance,  a  carriage 
drew  up,  from  which  Lucien  Bonaparte,  minister  of  the 
interior,  issued. 

"  Ah,  Loucian,  it  is  lucky  for  me  I  have  met  you !  " 
cried  the  stranger. 

These  words,  said  in  the  Corsican  patois,  stopped 
Lucien  at  the  moment  when  he  was  springing  under 
the  portico.  He  looked  at  his  compatriot,  and  recog- 
nized him.  At  the  first  word  that  Bartolomeo  said  in 
his  ear,  he  took  the  Corsican  away  with  him. 

Murat,  Lannes,  and  Rapp  were  at  that  moment  in 
the  cabinet  of  the  First  Consul.  As  Lucien  entered, 
followed  by  a  man  so  singular  in  appearance  as  Piombo, 
the  conversation  ceased.  Lucien  took  Napoleon  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  into  the  recess  of  a  window.  After 
exchanging  a  few  words   with  his  brother,   the  First 


Vendetta.  269 

Consul  made  a  sign  with  his  hand,  which  Murat  and 
Lannes  obeyed  by  retiring.  Rapp  pretended  not  to 
have  seen  it,  in  order  to  remain  where  he  was.  Bona- 
parte then  spoke  to  him  sharply,  and  the  aide-de-camp, 
with  evident  unwillingness,  left  the  room.  The  First 
Consul,  who  listened  for  Rapp's  step  in  the  adjoining 
salon,  opened  the  door  suddenl}',  and  found  his  aide- 
de-camp  close  to  the  wall  of  the  cabinet. 

"Do  you  choose  not  to  understand  me?"  said  the 
First  Consul.  "I  wish  to  be  alone  with  my  com- 
patriot." 

"A  Corsican!"  replied  the  aide-de-camp.  "I  dis- 
trust those  fellows  too  much  to  —  " 

The  First  Consul  could  not  restrain  a  smile  as  he 
pushed  his  faithful  officer  by  the  shoulders. 

"Well,  what  has  brought  you  here,  my  poor  Bartol- 
omeo?" said  Napoleon. 

"To  ask  asylum  and  protection  from  you,  if  you 
are  a  true  Corsican,"  replied  Bartolomeo,  roughly. 

"What  ill  fortune  drove  you  from  the  island?  You 
were  the  richest,  the  most  —  " 

"I  have  killed  all  the  Portas,"  replied  the  Corsican, 
in  a  deep  voice,  frowning  heavily. 

The  First  Consul  took  two  steps  backward  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Do  you  mean  to  betray  me?"  cried  Bartolomeo, 
with  a  darkling  look  at  Bonaparte.  "Do  you  know 
that  there  are  still  four  Piombos  in  Corsica?  " 


270  Vendetta. 

Lucien  took  an  arm  of  his  compatriot  and  shook  it. 

"Did  you  come  here  to  threaten  the  savior  of 
France  ?  "  he  said. 

Bonaparte  made  a  sign  to  Lucien,  who  kept  silence. 
Then  he  looked  at  Piombo  and  said :  — 

"Why  did  you  kill  the  Portas?  " 

"  We  had  made  friends,"  replied  the  man ;  "the  Bar- 
bantis  reconciled  us.  The  day  after  we  had  drunk 
together  to  drown  our  quarrels,  I  left  home  because 
I  had  business  at  Bastia.  The  Portas  remained  in  my 
house,  and  set  fire  to  my  vineyard  at  Longone.  They 
killed  my  son  Gregorio.  My  daughter  Ginevra  and 
my  wife,  having  taken  the  sacrament  that  morning, 
escaped ;  the  Virgin  protected  them.  When  I  returned 
I  found  no  house;  my  feet  were  in  its  ashes  as  I 
searched  for  it.  Suddenly  they  struck  against  the 
body  of  Gregorio;  I  recognized  him  in  the  moonlight. 
'The  Portas  have  dealt  me  this  blow,'  I  said;  and, 
forthwith,  I  went  to  the  woods,  and  there  I  called 
together  all  the  men  whom  I  had  ever  served,  —  do  you 
hear  me,  Bonaparte?  —  and  we  marched  to  the  vine- 
yard of  the  Portas.  We  got  there  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing; at  seven  they  were  all  before  God.  Giacomo 
declares  that  Eliza  Vanni  saved  a  child,  Luigi.  But 
I  myself  bound  him  in  his  bed  before  setting  fire  to  the 
house.  I  have  left  the  island  with  my  wife  and  child 
without  being  able  to  discover  whether,  indeed,  Luigi 
Porta  is  alive." 


Vendetta.  271 

Bonaparte  looked  with  curiosity  at  Bartolomeo,  but 
without  surprise. 

"How  many  were  there?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Seven,"  replied  Piombo.  "All  of  them  were  your 
persecutors  in  the  olden  time." 

These  words  roused  no  expression  of  hatred  on  the 
part  of  the  two  brothers. 

"Ha!  you  are  no  longer  Corsicans!  "  cried  Piombo, 
with  a  sort  of  despair.  "Farewell.  In  other  days  I 
protected  you,"  he  added,  in  a  reproachful  tone. 
"Without  me,  your  mother  would  never  have  reached 
Marseille,"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to  Bonaparte, 
who  was  silent  and  thoughtful,  his  elbow  resting  on 
the  mantel-shelf. 

"As  a  matter  of  duty,  Piombo,"  said  Napoleon  at 
last,  "I  cannot  take  you  under  my  wing.  I  have 
become  the  leader  of  a  great  nation ;  I  command  the 
Republic;  I  am  bound  to  execute  the  laws." 

"Ha!  ha!"  said  Bartolomeo,  scornfully. 

"But  I  can  shut  my  eyes,"  continued  Bonaparte. 
"The  tradition  of  the  Vendetta  will  long  prevent  the 
reign  of  law  in  Corsica,"  he  added,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself.     "But  it  must  be  destroyed,  at  any  cost." 

Bonaparte  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  Lucien 
made  a  sign  to  Piombo  not  to  speak.  The  Corsican 
was  swaying  his  head  from  right  to  left  in  deep 
disapproval. 


272  Vendetta. 

"Live  here,  in  Paris,"  resumed  the  First  Consul, 
addressing  Bartolomeo;  "we  will  know  nothing  of 
this  affair.  I  will  cause  your  property  in  Corsica  to 
be  bought,  to  give  you  enough  to  live  on  for  the 
present.  Later,  before  long,  we  will  think  of  you. 
But,  remember,  no  more  vendetta !  There  are  no  woods 
here  to  fly  to.  If  you  play  with  daggers,  you  must 
expect  no  mercy.  Here,  the  law  protects  all  citizens;, 
and  no  one  is  allowed  to  do  justice  for  himself." 

14 He  has  made  himself  the  head  of  a  singular  nation," 
said  Bartolomeo,  taking  Lucien's  hand  and  pressing  it. 
"But  you  have  both  recognized  me  in  misfortune,  and 
I  am  yours,  henceforth,  for  life  or  death.  You  may 
dispose  as  you  will  of  the  Piombos." 

With  these  words  his  Corsican  brow  unbent,  and  he 
looked  about  him  in  satisfaction. 

"You  are  not  badly  off  here,"  he  said,  smiling,  as  if 
he  meant  to  lodge  there  himself.  "You  are  all  in  red, 
like  a  cardinal." 

"Your  success  depends  upon  yourself;  you  can  have 
a  palace,  also,"  said  Bonaparte,  watching  his  com- 
patriot with  a  keen  eye.  "It  will  often  happen  that  I 
shall  need  some  faithful  friend  in  whom  I  can  confide." 

A  sigh  of  joy  heaved  the  vast  chest  of  the  Corsican, 
who  held  out  his  hand  to  the  First  Consul,  saying :  — 

"The  Corsican  is  in  you  still." 

Bonaparte  smiled.     He  looked  in  silence  at  the  man 


Vendetta.  273 

who  brought,  as  it  were,  a  waft  of  air  from  his  own 
land, —  from  that  isle  where  he  had  been  so  miraculously 
saved  from  the  hatred  of  the  " English  party ;  "  the  land 
he  was  never  to  see  again.  He  made  a  sign  to  his 
brother,  who  then  took  Piombo  away.  Lucien  inquired 
with  interest  as  to  the  financial  condition  of  the  former 
protector  of  their  family.  Piombo  took  him  to  a  win- 
dow and  showed  him  his  wife  and  Ginevra,  seated  on  a 
heap  of  stones. 

44 We  came  from  Fontainebleau  on  foot;  we  have  not 
a  single  penny,"  he  said. 

Lucien  gave  his  purse  to  his  compatriot,  telling  him 
to  come  to  him  the  next  day,  that  arrangements  might 
be  made  to  secure  the  comfort  of  the  family.  The 
value  of  Piombo' s  property  in  Corsica,  if  sold,  would 
scarcely  maintain  him  honorably  in  Paris. 

Fifteen  years  elapsed  between  the  time  of  Piombo's 
arrival  with  his  family  in  Paris  and  the  follow- 
ing event,  which  would  be  scarcely  intelligible  to 
the  reader  without  this  narrative  of  the  foregoing 
circumstances. 


Is 


274  Vendetta. 


II. 

THE    STUDIO. 

Servin,  one  of  our  most  distinguished  artists,  was 
the  first  to  conceive  the  idea  of  opening  a  studio  for 
young  girls  who  wished  to  take  lessons  in  painting. 

About  forty  years  of  age,  a  man  of  the  purest 
morals,  entirely  given  up  to  his  art,  he  had  married 
from  inclination  the  dowerless  daughter  of  a  general. 
At  first  the  mothers  of  his  pupils  brought  their  daugh- 
ters themselves  to  the  studio;  then  they  were  satisfied 
to  send  them  alone,  after  knowing  the  master's  princi- 
ples and  the  pains  he  took  to  deserve  their  confidence. 

It  was  the  artist's  intention  to  take  no  pupils  but 
young  ladies  belonging  to  rich  families  of  good  posi- 
tion, in  order  to  meet  with  no  complaints  as  to  the 
composition  of  his  classes.  He  even  refused  to  take 
girls  who  wished  to  become  artists;  for  to  them  he 
would  have  been  obliged  to  give  certain  instructions 
without  which  no  talent  could  advance  in  the  profes- 
sion. Little  by  little  his  prudence  and  the  ability  with 
which  he  initiated  his  pupils  into  his  art,  the  certainty 
each  mother  felt  that  her  daughter  was  in  company 
with  none  but  well-bred  young  girls,  and  the  fact  of 


Vendetta.  275 

the  artist's  marriage,  gave  him  an  excellent  reputa- 
tion as  a  teacher  in  society.  When  a  young  girl  wished 
to  learn  to  draw,  and  her  mother  asked  advice  of  her 
friends,  the  answer  was,  invariably:  uSend  her  to 
Servin's." 

Servin  became,  therefore,  for  feminine  art,  a  spe- 
cialty; like  Herbault  for  bonnets,  Leroy  for  gowns, 
and  Chevet  for  eatables.  It  was  recognized  that  a 
young  woman  who  had  taken  lessons  from  Servin  was 
capable  of  judging  the  paintings  of  the  Musee  conclu- 
sively, of  making  a  striking  portrait,  copying  an 
ancient  master,  or  painting  a  genre  picture.  The  artist 
thus  sufficed  for  the  educational  needs  of  the  aristoc- 
racy. But  in  spite  of  these  relations  with  the  best 
families  in  Paris,  he  was  independent  and  patriotic, 
and  he  maintained  among  them  that  easy,  brilliant, 
half-ironical  tone,  and  that  freedom  of  judgment  which 
characterize  painters. 

He  had  carried  his  scrupulous  precaution  into  the 
arrangements  of  the  locality  where  his  pupils*  studied. 
The  entrance  to  the  attic  above  his  apartments  was 
walled  up.  To  reach  this  retreat,  as  sacred  as  a 
harem,  it  was  necessary  to  go  up  a  small  spiral  staircase 
made  within  his  own  rooms.  The  studio,  occupying 
nearly  the  whole  attic  floor  under  the  roof,  presented 
to  the  eye  those  vast  proportions  which  surprise 
inquirers  when,  after  attaining  sixty  feet  above  the 


276  Vendetta. 

ground-floor,  they   expect  to  find  an  artist   squeezed 
into  a  gutter. 

This  gallery,  so  to  speak,  was  profusely  lighted  from 
above,  through  enormous  panes  of  glass  furnished  with 
those  green  linen  shades  by  means  of  which  all  artists 
arrange  the  light.  A  quantity  of  caricatures,  heads 
drawn  at  a  stroke,  either  in  color  or  with  the  point  of 
a  knife,  on  walls  painted  in  a  dark  gray,  proved  that, 
barring  a  difference  in  expression,  the  most  distin- 
guished young  girls  have  as  much  fun  and  folly  in 
their  minds  as  men.  A  small  stove  with  a  large  pipe, 
which  described  a  fearful  zigzag  before  it  reached  the 
upper  regions  of  the  roof,  was  the  necessary  and  infal- 
lible ornament  of  the  room.  A  shelf  ran  round  the 
walls,  on  which  were  models  in  plaster,  heterogeneously 
placed,  most  of  them  covered  with  gray  dust.  Here 
and  there,  above  this  shelf,  a  head  of  Niobe,  hanging 
to  a  nail,  presented  her  pose  of  woe;  a  Venus  smiled; 
a  hand  thrust  itself  forward  like  that  of  a  pauper  ask- 
ing alms;  a  few  scorches,  yellowed  by  smoke,  looked 
like  limbs  snatched  over-night  from  a  graveyard;  be- 
sides these  objects,  pictures,  drawings,  lay  figures, 
frames  without  paintings,  and  paintings  without  frames 
gave  to  this  irregular  apartment  that  studio  physiog- 
nomy which  is  distinguished  for  its  singular  jumble 
of  ornament  and  bareness,  poverty  and  riches,  care 
and  neglect.     The  vast  receptacle  of  an  atelier,  where 


Vendetta.  277 

% 
all  seems  small,  even  man,  has  something  the  air  of  an 
Opera  coulisse ;  here  lie  ancient  garments,  .gilded 
armor,  fragments  of  stuffs,  machinery.  And  yet  there 
is  something  mysteriously  grand,  like  thought,  in  it; 
genius  and  death  are  there;  Diana  and  Apollo  beside 
a  skull  or  skeleton,  beauty  and  destruction,  poesy  and 
reality,  colors  glowing  in  the  shadows,  often  a  whole 
drama,  motionless  and  silent.  Strange  symbol  of  an 
artist's  head! 

At  the  moment  when  this  history  begins,  a  brilliant 
July  sun  was  illuminating  the  studio,  and  two  rays 
striking  athwart  it  lengthwise,  traced  diaphanous  gold 
lines  in  which  the  dust  was  shimmering.  A  dozen 
easels  raised  their  sharp  points  like  masts  in  a  port. 
Several  young  girls  were  animating  the  scene  by  the 
variety  of  their  expressions,  their  attitudes,  and  the 
differences  in  their  toilets.  The  strong  shadows  cast 
by  the  green  serge  curtains,  arranged  according  to  the 
needs  of  each  easel,  produced  a  multitude  of  contrasts, 
and  the  piquant  effects  of  light  and  shade.  This  group 
was  the  prettiest  of  all  the  pictures  in  the  studio. 

A  fair  young  girl,  very  simply  dressed,  sat  at  some 
distance  from  her  companions,  working  bravely,  and 
seeming  to  be  in  dread  of  some  mishap.  No  one 
looked  at  her,  or  spoke  to  her;  she  was  much  the  pret- 
tiest, the  most  modest,  and,  apparently,  the  least  rich 
among  them.     Two  principal  groups,  distinctly  sepa- 


278  Vendetta. 

rated  from  each  other,  showed  the  presence  of  two  sets 
or  cliques,  two  minds  even  here,  in  this  studio,  where 
one  might  suppose  that  rank  and. fortune  would  be 
forgotten. 

But,  however  that  might  be,  these  young  girls,  sit- 
ting or  standing,  in  the  midst  of  their  color-boxes, 
playing  with  their  brushes  or  preparing  them,  handling 
their  dazzling  palettes,  painting,  laughing,  talking, 
singing,  absolutely  natural,  and  exhibiting  their  real 
selves,  composed  a  spectacle  unknown  to  man.  One 
of  them,  proud,  haughty,  capricious,  with  black  hair 
and  beautiful  hands,  was  casting  the  flame  of  her 
glance  here  and  there  at  random ;  another,  light-hearted 
and  gay,  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  with  chestnut  hair  and 
delicate  white  hands,  was  a  typical  French  virgin, 
thoughtless,  and  without  hidden  thoughts,  living  her 
natural  real  life;  a  third  was  dreamy,  melancholy,  pale, 
bending  her  head  like  a  drooping  flower;  her  neighbor, 
on  the  contrary,  tall,  indolent,  with  Asiatic  habits, 
long  eyes,  moist  and  black,  said  but  little,  and 
reflected,  glancing  covertly  at  the  head  of  Antinoiis. 

Among  them,  like  the  jocoso  of  a  Spanish  play,  full 
of  wit  and  epigrammatic  sallies,  another  girl  was 
watching  the  rest  with  a  comprehensive  glance,  making 
them  laugh,  and  tossing  up  her  head,  too  lively  and 
arch  not  to  be  pretty.  She  appeared  to  rule  the  first 
group  of  girls,  who  were  the  daughters   of   bankers, 


Vendetta.  279 

notaries,  and  merchants, — all  rich,  but  aware  of  the 
imperceptible  though  cutting  slights  which  another 
group  belonging  to  the  aristocracy  put  upon  them.  The 
latter  were  led  by  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  King's 
ushers,  a  little  creature,  as  silly  as  she  was  vain,  proud 
of  being  the  daughter  of  a  man  with  "an  office  at 
court."  She  was  a  girl  who  always  pretended  to  under- 
stand the  remarks  of  the  master  at  the  first  word,  and 
seemed  to  do  her  work  as  a  favor  to  him.  She  used 
an  eyeglass,  came  very  much  dressed,  and  always  late, 
and  entreated  her  companions  to  speak  low. 

In  this  second  group  were  several  girls  with  exquisite 
figures  and  distinguished  features,  but  there  was  little 
in  their  glance  or  expression  that  was  simple  and 
candid.  Though  their  attitudes  were  elegant  and  their 
movements  graceful,  their  faces  lacked  frankness;  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  they  belonged  to  a  world  where 
polite  manners  form  the  character  from  early  youth, 
and  the  abuse  of  social  pleasures  destroys  sentiment 
and  develops  egotism. 

But  when  the  whole  class  was  here  assembled,  child- 
like heads  were  seen  among  this  bevy  of  young  girls, 
ravishiugly  pure  and  virgin,  faces  with  lips  half- 
opened,  through  which  shone  spotless  teeth,  and  on 
which  a  virgin  smile  was  flickering.  The  studio  then 
resembled  not  a  studio,  but  a  group  of  angels  seated 
on  a  cloud  in  ether. 


280  Vendetta. 

By  mid-day,  on  this  occasion,  Servin  had  not  ap- 
peared. For  some  days  past  he  had  spent  most  of  his 
time  in  a  studio  which  he  kept  elsewhere,  where  he 
was  giving  the  last  touches  to  a  picture  for  the  Expo- 
sition. All  of  a  sudden  Mademoiselle  Amelie  Thirion, 
the  leader  of  the  aristocrats,  began  to  speak  in  a  low 
voice,  and  very  earnestly,  to  her  neighbor.  A  great 
silence  fell  on  the  group  of  patricians,  and  the  com- 
mercial party,  surprised,  were  equally  silent,  trying  to 
discover  the  subject  of  this  earnest  conference.  The 
secret  of  the  young  ultras  was  soon  revealed. 

Amelie  rose,  took  an  easel  which  stood  near  hers, 
carried  it  to  a  distance  from  the  noble  group,  and 
placed  it  close  to  a  board  partition  which  separated 
the  studio  from  the  extreme  end  of  the  attic,  where  all 
broken  casts,  defaced  canvases  and  the  winter  supply 
of  wood  were  kept.  Amelie's  action  caused  a  murmur 
of  surprise,  which  did  not  prevent  her  from  accom- 
plishing the  change  by  rolling  hastily  to  the  side  of 
the  easel  the  stool,  the  box  of  colors,  and  even  the 
picture  by  Prudhon,  which  the  absent  pupil  was 
copying.  After  this  coup  d'etat  the  Right  began  to 
work  in  silence,  but  the  Left  discoursed  at  length. 

"What  will  Mademoiselle  Piombo  say  to  that?" 
asked  a  young  girl  of  Mademoiselle  Matilde  Roguin, 
the  lively  oracle  of  the  banking  gronp. 

" She's  not  a  girl  to  say  anything,"  was  the  reply; 


Vendetta.  281 

"but  fifty  years  hence  she  '11  remember  the  insult  as  if 
it  were  done  to  her  the  night  before,  and  revenge  it 
cruelly.  She  is  a  person  that  I,  for  one,  don't  want  to 
be  at  war  with." 

"The  slight  these  young  ladies  mean  to  put  upon 
her  is  all  the  more  unkind,"  said  another  young  girl, 
"because  yesterday,  Mademoiselle  Ginevra  was  very 
sad.  Her  father,  they  say,  has  just  resigned.  They 
ought  not  to  add  to  her  trouble,  for  she  was  very  con- 
siderate of  them  during  the  Hundred  Days.  Never 
did  she  say  a  word  to  wound  them.  On  the  contrary, 
she  avoided  politics.  But  I  think  our  ultras  are  acting 
more  from  jealousy  than  from  party  spite." 

"I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  and  get  Mademoiselle 
Piombo's  easel  and  place  it  next  to  mine,"  said 
Matilde  Roguin.  She  rose,  but  second  thoughts  made 
her  sit  down  again. 

"With  a  character  like  hers,"  she  said,  "one  can't 
tell  how  she  would  take  a  civility;  better  wait  events." 

"Ecco  la"  said  the  young  girl  with  the  black  eyes, 
languidly.  / 

The  steps  of  a  person  coming  up  the  narrow  stairway 
sounded  through  the  studio.  The  words:  "Here  she 
comes ! "  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  then  the 
most  absolute  silence  reigned. 

To  understand  the  importance  of  the  ostracism  im- 
posed by  the  act  of  Ame'lie  Thirion,  it  is  necessary 


282  Vendetta. 

to  add  that  this  scene  took  place  toward  the  end  of 
the  month  of  July,  1815.  The  second  return  of  the 
Bourbons  had  shaken  many  friendships  which  had  held 
firm  under  the  first  Restoration.  At  this  moment 
families,  almost  all  divided  in  opinion,  were  renewing 
many  of  the  deplorable  scenes  which  stain  the  history 
of  all  countries  in  times  of  civil  or  religious  wars. 
Children,  young  girls,  old  men  shared  the  monarchial 
fever  to  which  the  country  was  then  a  victim.  Discord 
glided  beneath  all  roofs ;  distrust  dyed  with  its  gloomy 
colors  the  words  and  the  actions  of  the  most  intimate 
friends. 

Ginevra  Piombo  loved  Napoleon  to  idolatry ;  how, 
then,  could  she  hate  him  ?  The  emperor  was  her  com- 
patriot and  the  benefactor  of  her  father.  The  Baron 
di  Piombo  was  among  those  of  Napoleon's  devoted 
servants  who  had  co-operated  most  effectually  in  the 
return  from  Elba.  Incapable  of  denying  his  political 
faith,  anxious  even  to  confess  it,  the  old  baron  re- 
mained in  Paris  in  the  midst  of  his  enemies.  Ginevra 
Piombo  was  all  the  more  open  to  condemnation  be- 
cause she  made  no  secret  of  the  grief  which  the  second 
Restoration  caused  to  her  family.  The  only  tears  she 
had  so  far  shed  in  life  were  drawn  from  her  by  the 
twofold  news  of  Napoleon's  captivity  on  the  "Bellero- 
phon,"  and  Labedoyere's  arrest. 

The  girls  of  the  aristocratic  group  of  pupils  belonged 


Vendetta.  283 

to  the  most  devoted  royalist  families  in  Paris.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  give  an  idea  of  the  exaggerations 
prevalent  at  this  epoch,  and  of  the  horror  inspired  by 
the  Bonapartists.  However  insignificant  and  petty 
Amelie's  action  may  now  seem  to  be,  it  was  at  that 
time  a  very  natural  expression  of  the  prevailing 
hatred.  Ginevra  Piombo,  one  of  Servin's  first  pupils, 
had  occupied  the  place  that  was  now  taken  from  her 
since  the  first  day  of  her  coming  to  the  studio.  The 
aristocratic  circle  had  gradually  surrounded  her.  To 
drive  her  from  a  place  that  in  some  sense  belonged  to 
her  was  not  only  to  insult  her,  but  to  cause  her  a  spe- 
cies of  artistic  pain;  for  all  artists  have  a  spot  of  pre- 
dilection where  they  work. 

Nevertheless,  political  prejudice  was  not  the  chief 
influence  on  the  conduct  of  the  Right  clique  of  the 
studio.  Ginevra,  much  the  ablest  of  Servin's  pupils, 
was  an  object  of  intense  jealousy.  The  master  testi- 
fied as  much  admiration  for  the  talents  as  for  the  char- 
acter of  this  favorite  pupil,  who  served  as  a  conclusion 
to  all  his  comparisons.  In  fact,  without  any  one 
being  able  to  explain  the  ascendency  which  this  young 
girl  obtained  over  all  who  came  in  contact  with  her, 
she  exercised  over  the  little  world  around  her  a  prestige 
not  unlike  that  of  Bonaparte  upon  his  soldiers. 

The  aristocracy  of  the  studio  had  for  some  days  past 
resolved  upon  the  fall  of  thi3  queen,  but  no  one  had, 


284  Vendetta. 

as  yet,  ventured  to  openly  avoid  the  Bonapartist.  Ma- 
demoiselle Thirion's  act  was,  therefore,  a  decisive 
stroke,  intended  by  her  to  force  the  others  into  becom- 
ing, openly,  the  accomplices  of  her  hatred.  Though 
Ginevra  was  sincerely  loved  by  several  of  these  royal- 
ists, nearly  all  of  whom  were  indoctrinated  at  home 
with  their  political  ideas,  they  decided,  with  the  tactics 
peculiar  to  women,  that  they  should  do  best  to  keep 
themselves  aloof  from  the  quarrel. 

On  Ginevra' s  arrival  she  was  received,  as  we  have 
said,  in  profound  silence.  Of  all  the  young  women 
who  had,  so  far,  come  to  Servin's  studio,  she  was  the 
handsomest,  the  tallest,  and  the  best  made.  Her  car- 
riage and  demeanor  had  a  character  of  nobility  and 
grace  which  commanded  respect.  Her  face,  instinct 
with  intelligence,  seemed  to  radiate  light,  so  inspired 
was  it  with  the  enthusiasm  peculiar  to  Corsicans,  — 
which  does  not,  however,  preclude  calmness.  Her  long 
hair  and  her  black  eyes  and  lashes  expressed  passion ; 
the  corners  of  her  mouth,  too  softly  defined,  and  the 
lips,  a  trifle  too  marked,  gave  signs  of  that  kindliness 
which  strong  beings  derive  from  the  consciousness  of 
their  strength.  \ 

By  a  singular  caprice  of  nature,  the  charm  of  her 
face  was,  in  some  degree,  contradicted  by  a  marble 
forehead,  on  which  lay  an  almost  savage  pride,  and 
from  which  seemed  to  emanate  the  moral  instincts  of 


Vendetta.  285 

a  Corsican.  In  that  was  the  only  link  between  herself 
and  her  native  land.  All  the  rest  of  her  person,  her 
simplicity,  the  easy  grace  of  her  Lombard  beauty,  was 
so  seductive  that  it  was  difficult  for  those  who  looked 
at  her  to  give  her  pain.  She  inspired  such  keen 
attraction  that  her  old  father  caused  her,  as  matter  of 
precaution,  to  be  accompanied  to  and  from  the  studio. 
The  only  defect  of  this  truly  poetic  creature  came  from 
the  very  power  of  a  beauty  so  fully  developed;  she 
looked  a  woman.  Marriage  she  had  refused  out  of 
love  to  her  father  and  mother,  feeling  herself  neces- 
sary to  the  comfort  of  their  old  age.  Her  taste  for 
painting  took  the  place  of  the  passions  and  interests 
which  usually  absorb  her  sex. 

"You  are  very  silent  to-day,  mesdemoiselles,"  she 
said,  after  advancing  a  little  way  among  her  compan- 
ions. uGood-morning,  my  little  Laure,"  she  added, 
in  a  soft,  caressing  voice,  approaching  the  young  girl 
who  was  painting  apart  from  the  rest.  "That  head  is 
strong,  —  the  flesh  tints  a  little  too  rosy,  but  the  draw- 
ing is  excellent." 

Laure  raised  her  head  and  looked  tenderly  at  Gin- 
evra;  their  faces  beamed  with  the  expression  of  a 
mutual  affection.  A  faint  smile  brightened  the  lips  of 
the  young  Italian,  who  seemed  thoughtful,  and  walked 
slowly  to  her  easel,  glancing  carelessly  at  the  drawings 
and  paintings  on  her  way,  and  bidding  good-morning 


286  Vendetta. 

to  each  of  the  young  girls  of  the  first  group,  not 
observing  the  unusual  curiosity  excited  by  her  pres- 
ence. She  was  like  a  queen  in  the  midst  of  her  court; 
she  paid  no  attention  to  the  profound  silence  that 
reigned  among  the  patricians,  and  passed  before  their 
camp  without  pronouncing  a  single  word.  Her  absorp- 
tion seemed  so  great  that  she  sat  down  before  her  easel, 
opened  her  color-box,  took  up  her  brushes,  drew  on  her 
brown  sleeves,  arranged  her  apron,  looked  at  her  pic- 
ture, examined  her  palette,  without,  apparently,  think- 
ing of  what  she  was  doing.  All  heads  in  the  group  of 
the  bourgeoises  were  turned  toward  her.  If  the  young 
ladies  in  the  Thirion  camp  did  not  show  their  impa- 
tience with  the  same  frankness,  their  sidelong  glances 
were  none  the  less  directed  on  Ginevra. 

"She  has  n't  noticed  it!  "  said  Mademoiselle  Roguin. 

At  this  instant  Ginevra  abandoned  the  meditative 
attitude  in  which  she  had  been  contemplating  her 
canvas,  and  turned  her  head  toward  the  group  of  aris- 
tocrats. She  measured,  at  a  glance,  the  distance  that 
now  separated  her  from  them ;  but  she  said  nothing. 

"It  hasn't  occurred  to  her  that  they  meant  to 
insult  her,"  said  Matilde;  "she  neither  colored  nor 
turned  pale.  How  vexed  those  girls  will  be  if  she 
likes  her  new  place  as  well  as  the  old!  You  are  out 
of  bounds,  mademoiselle,"  she  added,  aloud,  address- 
in  <r  Ginevra. 


Vendetta.  287 

The  Italian  pretended  not  to  hear;  perhaps  she 
really  did  not  hear.  She  rose  abruptly;  walked  with  a 
certain  deliberation  along  the  side  of  the  partition 
which  separated  the  adjoining  closet  from  the  studio, 
and  seemed  to  be  examining  the  sash  through  which  her 
light  came,  —  giving  so  much  importance  to  it  that  she 
mounted  a  chair  to  raise  the  green  serge,  which  inter- 
cepted the  light,  much  higher.  Reaching  that  height, 
her  eye  was  on  a  level  with  a  slight  opening  in  the 
partition,  the  real  object  of  her  efforts,  for  the  glance 
that  she  cast  through  it  can  be  compared  only  to  that 
of  a  miser  discovering  Aladdin's  treasure.  Then  she 
sprang  down  hastily  and  returned  to  her  place,  changed 
the  position  of  her  picture,  pretended  to  be  still  dissat- 
isfied with  the  light,  pushed  a  table  close  to  the  parti- 
tion, on  which  she  placed  a  chair,  climbed  lightly  to 
the  summit  of  this  erection,  and  again  looked  through 
the  crevice.  She  cast  but  one  glance  into  the  space 
beyond,  which  was  lighted  through  a  skylight;  but 
what  she  saw  produced  so  strong  an  effect  upon  her  that 
she  tottered. 

"Take  care,  Mademoiselle  Ginevra,  you'll  fall!" 
cried  Laure. 

All  the  young  girls  gazed  at  the  imprudent  climber, 
and  the  fear  of  their  coming  to  her  gave  her  courage; 
she  recovered  her  equilibrium,  and  replied,  as  she  bal- 
anced herself  on  the  shaking  chair:  — 


288  Vendetta. 

"Pooh!  it  is  more  solid  than  a  throne! " 
She  then  secured  the  curtain  and  came  down,  pushed 
the  chair  and  table  as  far  as  possible  from  the  parti- 
tion, returned  to  her  easel,  and  seemed  to  be  arranging: 
it  to  suit  the  volume  of  light  she  had  now  thrown  upon 
it.  Her  picture,  however,  was  not  in  her  mind,  which 
was  wholly  bent  on  getting  as  near  as  possible  to 
the  closet,  against  the  door  of  which  she  finally 
settled  herself.  Then  she  began  to  prepare  her  palette 
in  the  deepest  silence.  Sitting  there,  she  could  hear, 
distinctly,  a  sound  which  had  strongly  excited  her 
curiosity  the  evening  before,  and  had  whirled  her 
young  imagination  across  vast  fields  of  conjecture. 
She  recognized  the  firm  and  regular  breathing  of  a 
man  whom  she  had  just  seen  asleep.  Her  curiosity 
was  satisfied  beyond  her  expectations,  but  at  the  same 
time  she  felt  saddled  by  an  immense  responsibility. 
Through  the  opening  in  the  wall  she  had  seen  the 
Imperial  eagle ;  and  upon  the  flock  bed,  faintly  lighted 
from  above,  lay  the  form  of  an  officer  of  the  Guard. 
She  guessed  all.  Servin  was  hiding  a  proscribed 
man! 

She  now  trembled  lest  any  of  her  companions  should 
come  near  her  to  examine  her  picture,  when  the  regular 
breathing  or  some  deeper  breath  might  reveal  to  them, 
as  it  had  to  her,  the  presence  of  this  political  victim. 
She  resolved  to  keep  her  place  beside  that  door,  trust- 


Vendetta.  289 

ing  to  her  wits  to  baffle  all  dangerous  chances  that 
might  arise. 

"Better  that  I  should  be  here,"  thought  she,  "to 
prevent  some  luckless  accident,  than  leave  that  poor 
man  at  the  mercy  of  a  heedless  betrayal." 

This  was  the  secret  of  the  indifference  which  Ginevra 
had  apparently  shown  to  the  removal  of  her  easel. 
She  was  inwardly  enchanted,  because  the  change  had 
enabled  her  to  gratify  her  curiosity  in  a  natural  man- 
ner; besides,  at  this  moment,  she  was  too  keenly  pre- 
occupied to  perceive  the  reason  of  her  removal. 

Nothing  is  more  mortifying  to  young  girls,  or, 
indeed,  to  all  the  world,  than  to  see  a  piece  of  mischief, 
an  insult,  or  a  biting  speech,  miss  its  effect  through 
the  contempt  or  the  indifference  of  the  intended  victim. 
It  seems  as  if  hatred  to  an  enemy  grows  in  proportion 
to  the  height  that  enemy  is  raised  above  us.  Gin- 
evra's  behavior  was  an  enigma  to  all  her  companions; 
her  friends  and  enemies  were  equally  surprised;  for  the 
former  claimed  for  her  all  good  qualities,  except  that 
of  forgiveness  of  injuries.  Though,  of  course,  the 
occasions  for  displaying  that  vice  of  nature  were  sel- 
dom afforded  to  Ginevra  in  the  life  of  a  studio,  still, 
the  specimens  she  had  now  and  then  given  of  her  vin- 
dictive disposition  had  left  a  strong  impression  on  the 
minds  of  her  companions. 

After  many  conjectures,  Mademoiselle  Roguin  came 
19 


290  Vendetta. 

to  the  conclusion  that  the  Italian's  silence  showed  a 
grandeur  of  soul  beyond  all  praise;  and  the  banking 
circle,  inspired  by  her,  formed  a  project  to  humiliate 
the  aristocracy.  They  succeeded  in  that  aim  by  a  fire 
of  sarcasms  which  presently  brought  down  the  pride  of 
the  Right  coterie. 

'  Madame  Servin's  arrival  put  a  stop  to  the  struggle. 
With  the  shrewdness  that  usually  accompanies  malice, 
Amelie  Thirion  had  noticed,  analyzed,  and  mentally 
commented  on  the  extreme  preoccupation  of  Ginevra's 
mind,  which  prevented  her  from  even  hearing  the  bit- 
terly polite  war  of  words  of  which  she  was  the  object. 
The  vengeance  Mademoiselle  Roguin  and  her  compan- 
ions were  inflicting  on  Mademoiselle  Thirion  and  her 
group  had,  therefore,  the  fatal  effect  of  driving  the 
young  ultras  to  search  for  the  cause  of  the  silence  so 
obstinately  maintained  by  Ginevra  di  Piombo.  The 
beautiful  Italian  became  the  centre  of  all  glances,  and 
she  was  henceforth  watched  by  friends  and  foes 
alike. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  hide  even  a  slight  emotion  or 
sentiment  from  fifteen  inquisitive  and  unoccupied 
young  girls,  whose  wits  and  mischief  ask  for  nothing 
better  than  secrets  to  guess,  schemes  to  create  or  baffle, 
and  who  know  how  to  find  too  many  interpretations  for 
each  gesture,  glance,  and  word,  to  fail  in  discovering 
the  right  one. 


Vendetta.  291 

At  this  moment,  however,  the  presence  of  Madame 
Servin  produced  an  interlude  in  the  drama  thus  played 
below  the  surface  in  these  various  young  hearts,  the 
sentiments,  ideas,  and  progress  of  which  were  ex- 
pressed by  phrases  that  were  almost  allegorical,  by 
mischievous  glances,  by  gestures,  by  silence  even, 
more  intelligible  than  words.  As  soon  as  Madame 
Servin  entered  the  studio,  her  eyes  turned  to  the  door 
near  which  Ginevra  was  seated.  Under  present  cir- 
cumstances the  fact  of  this  glance  was  not  lost. 
Though  at  first  none  of  the  pupils  took  notice  of  it, 
Mademoiselle  Thirion  recollected  it  later,  and  it  ex- 
plained to  her  the  doubt,  fear,  and  mystery  which  now 
gave  something  wild  and  frightened  to  Madame  Ser- 
vin's  eyes. 

"Mesdemoiselles,"  she  said,  "Monsieur  Servin  can- 
not come  to-day." 

Then  she  went  round  complimenting  each  young 
girl,  receiving  in  return  a  volume  of  those  feminine 
caresses  which  are  given  as  much  by  the  tones  of  the 
voice  and  by  looks  as  by  gestures.  She  presently 
reached  Ginevra,  under  the  influence  of  an  uneasiness 
she  tried  in  vain  to  disguise.  They  nodded  to  each 
other  in  a  friendly  way,  but  said  nothing;  one  painted, 
the  other  stood  looking  at  the  painting.  The  breath- 
ing of  the  soldier  in  the  closet  could  be  distinctly 
heard,  but  Madame   Servin   appeared   not  to   notice 


292  Vendetta. 

it;  her  feigned  ignorance  was  so  obvious  that  Ginevra 
recognized  it  at  once  for  wilful  deafness.  Presently 
the  unknown  man  turned  on  his  pallet. 

The  Italian  then  looked  fixedly  at  Madame  Servin, 
who  said,  without  the  slightest  change  of  face :  — 

"Your  copy  is  as  fine  as  the  original;  if  I  had  to 
choose  between  the  two  I  should  be  puzzled." 

"Monsieur  Servin  has  not  taken  his  wife  into  his 
confidence  as  to  this  mystery,"  thought  Ginevra,  who, 
after  replying  to  the  young  wife's  speech  with  a  gentle 
smile  of  incredulity,  began  to  hum  a  Corsican  canzon- 
etta  to  cover  the  noise  that  was  made  by  the  prisoner. 

It  was  so  unusual  a  thing  to  hear  the  studious  'Italian 
sing,  that  all  the  other  young  girls  looked  up  at  her  in 
surprise.  Later,  this  circumstance  served  as  proof  to 
the  charitable  suppositions  of  jealousy. 

Madame  Servin  soon  went  away,  and  the  session 
ended  without  farther  events;  Ginevra  allowed  her 
companions  to  depart,  and  seemed  to  intend  to  work 
later.  But,  unconsciously  to  herself,  she  betrayed  her 
desire  to  be  left  alone  by  impatient  glances,  ill- 
disguised,  at  the  pupils  who  were  slow  in  leaving. 
Mademoiselle  Thirion,  a  cruel  enemy  to  the  girl  who 
excelled  her  in  everything,  guessed  by  the  instinct  of 
jealousy  that  her  rival's  industry  hid  some  purpose. 
By  dint  of  watching  her  she  was  struck  by  the  attentive 
air  with  which  Ginevra   seemed   to   be   listening   to 


Vendetta.  293 

sounds  that  no  one  else  had  heard.  The  expression  of 
impatience  she  now  detected  in  her  companion's  eyes 
was  like  a  flash  of  light  to  her. 

Amelie  was  the  last  of  the  pupils  to  leave  the  studio ; 
from  there  she  went  down  to  Madame  Servin's  apart- 
ment and  talked  with  her  for  a  moment;  then  she  pre- 
tended to  have  left  her  bag,  ran  softly  back  to  the 
studio,  and  found  Ginevra  once  more  mounted  on  her 
frail  scaffolding,  and  so  absorbed  in  contemplation  of 
an  unknown  object  that  she  did  not  hear  the  slight 
noise  of  her  companion's  footsteps.  It  is  true  that, 
to  use  an  expression  of  Walter  Scott,  Amelie  stepped 
as  if  on  eggs.  She  hastily  withdrew  outside  the  door 
and  coughed.  Ginevra  quivered,  turned  her  head,  saw 
her  enemy,  blushed,  hastened  to  alter  the  shade  to 
give  meaning  to  her  position,  and  came  down  from  her 
perch  leisurely.  She  soon  after  left  the  studio,  bearing 
with  her,  in  her  memory,  the  image  of  a  man's  head, 
as  beauteous  as  that  of  the  Endymion,  a  masterpiece 
of  Girodet's  which  she  had  lately  copied. 

"To  banish  so  young  a  man!  Who  can  he  be?  for 
he  is  not  Marshal  Ney  —  " 

These  two  sentences  are  the  simplest  expression  of 
the  many  ideas  that  Ginevra  turned  over  in  her  mind 
for  two  days.  On  the  third  day,  in  spite  of  her  haste 
to  be  first  at  the  studio,  she  found  Mademoiselle 
Thirion   already   there,   having   come   in  a  carriage. 


294  Vendetta. 

Ginevra  and  her  enemy  observed  each  other  for  a 
long  time,  but  they  made  their  faces  impenetrable. 
Amelie  had  seen  the  handsome  head  of  the  mysterious 
man,  but,  fortunately,  and  unfortunately  also,  the 
Imperial  eagles  and  uniform  were  so  placed  that  she 
did  not  see  them  through  the  crevice  in  the  partition. 
She  was  lost  in  conjectures.  Suddenly  Servin  came 
in,  much  earlier  than  usual. 

"Mademoiselle  Ginevra,"  he  said,  after  glancing 
round  the  studio,  "why  have  you  placed  yourself 
there?  The  light  is  bad.  Come  nearer  to  the  rest  of 
the  young  ladies  and  pull  down  that  curtain  a  little." 

Then  he  sat  down  near  Laure,  whose  work  deserved 
his  most  cordial  correction. 

"Well,  well!"  he  cried;  "here,  indeed,  is  a  head 
extremely  well  done.     You  '11  be  another  Ginevra." 

The  master  then  went  .from  easel  to  easel,  scolding, 
flattering,  jesting,  and  making,  as  usual,  his  jests 
more  dreaded  than  his  reprimands.  Ginevra  had  not 
obeyed  the  professor's  order,  but  remained  at  her  post, 
firmly  resolved  not  to  quit  it.  She  took  a  sheet  of 
paper  and  began  to  sketch  in  sepia  the  head  of  the 
hidden  man.  A  work  done  under  the  impulse  of  an 
emotion  has  always  a  stamp  of  its  own.  The  faculty 
of  giving  to  representations  of  nature  or  of  thought 
their  true  coloring  constitutes  genius,  and  often,  in 
this  respect,  passion  takes  the  place  of  it.     So,  under 


Vendetta.  295 

the  circumstances  in  which  Ginevra  now  found  herself, 
the  intuition  which  she  owed  to  a  powerful  effect  upon 
her  memory,  or,  possibly,  to  necessity,  that  mother  of 
great  things,  lent  her,  for  the  moment,  a  supernatural 
talent.  The  head  of  the  young  officer  was  dashed  upon 
the  paper  in  the  midst  of  an  inward  trembling  which 
she  mistook  for  fear,  and  in  which  a  physiologist 
would  have  recognized  the  lire  of  inspiration.  From 
time  to  time  she  glanced  furtively  at  her  companions, 
in  order  to  hide  the  sketch  if  any  of  them  came  near 
her.  But  in  spite  of  her  watchfulness,  there  was  a 
moment  when  she  did  not  see  the  eyeglass  of  the 
pitiless  Amelie  turned  full  upon  the  drawing  from  the 
shelter  of  a  great  portfolio.  Mademoiselle  Thirion, 
recognizing  the  portrait  of  the  mysterious  man,  showed 
herself  abruptly,  and  Ginevra  hastily  covered  the  sheet 
of  paper. 

"Why  do  you  stay  there  in  spite  of  my  advice, 
mademoiselle  ?  "  asked  the  professor,  gravely. 

The  pupil  turned  her  easel  so  that  no  one  but  the 
master  could  see  the  sketch,  which  she  placed  upon  it, 
and  said,  in  an  agitated  voice :  — 

"Do  you  not  think,  as  I  do,  that  the  light  is  very 
good  ?     Had  I  not  better  remain  here  ?  " 

Servin  turned  pale.  As  nothing  escapes  the  pierc- 
ing eyes  of  malice,  Mademoiselle  Thirion  became,  as 
it  were,  a  sharer  in  the  sudden  emotion  of  master  and 
pupil. 


296  Vendetta. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Servin;  "but  really,"  he 
added,  with  a  forced  laugh,  "you  will  soon  come  to 
know  more  than  I  do." 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  the  professor  studied 
the  drawing  of  the  officer's  head. 

"It  is  a  masterpiece!  worthy  of  Sal va tor  Rosa!  "  he 
exclaimed,  with  the  energy  of  an  artist. 

All  the  pupils  rose  on  hearing  this,  and  Mademoi- 
selle Thirion  darted  forward  with  the  velocity  of  a 
tiger  on  its  prey.  At  this  instant,  the  prisoner,  awak- 
ened, perhaps,  by  the  noise,  began  to  move.  Ginevra 
knocked  over  her  stool,  said  a  few  incoherent  sen- 
tences, and  began  to  laugh;  but  she  had  thrown  the 
portrait  into  her  portfolio  before  Amelie  could  get  to 
her.  The  easel  was  now  surrounded ;  Servin  descanted 
on  the  beauty  of  the  copy  which  his  favorite  pupil  was 
then  making,  and  the  whole  class  was  duped  by  this 
stratagem,  except  Amelie,  who,  slipping  behind  her 
companions,  attempted  to  open  the  portfolio  where  she 
had  seen  G-inevra  throw  the  sketch.  But  the  latter 
took  it  up  without  a  word,  and  placed  it  in  front  of 
her.  The  two  young  girls  then  looked  at  each  other 
fixedly,  in  silence. 

"Come,  mesdemoiselles,  take  your  places,"  said 
Servin.  "  If  you  wish  to  do  as  well  as  Mademoiselle 
di  Piombo,  you  mustn't  be  always  talking  fashions 
and  balls,  and  trifling  away  your  time  as  you  do." 


Vendetta.  297 

When  they  were  all  reseated  before  their  easels, 
Servin  sat  down  beside  Ginevra. 

"Was  it  not  better  that  I  should  be  the  one  to  dis- 
cover the  mystery  rather  than  the  others  ?  M  asked  the 
girl,  in  a  low  voice. 

44  Yes,"  replied  the  painter,  "you  are  one  of  us,  a 
patriot;  but  even  if  you  were  not,  I  should  still  have 
confided  the  matter  to  you." 

Master  and  pupil  understood  each  other,  and  Gin- 
evra no  longer  feared  to  ask :  — 

"Who  is  he?" 

"An  intimate  friend  of  Labedoyere,  who  contrib- 
uted more  than  any  other  man,  except  the  unfortunate 
colonel,  to  the  union  of  the  7th  regiment  with  the 
grenadiers  of  Elba.  He  was  a  major  in  the  Imperial 
guard  and  was  at  Waterloo." 

"  Why  not  have  burned  his  uniform  and  shako,  and 
supplied  him  with  citizen's  clothes?"  said  Ginevra, 
impatiently. 

"He  will  have  them  to-night." 

"You  ought  to  have  closed  the  studio  for  some 
days." 

"He  is  going  away." 

"Then  they'll  kill  him,"  said  the  girl.  "Let  him 
stay  here  with  you  till  the  present  storm  is  over.  Paris 
is  still  the  only  place  in  France  where  a  man  can  be 
hidden  safely.     Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  ?  "  she  asked. 


298  Vendetta. 

"No;  he  has  no  claim  upon  me  but  that  of  his  ill- 
luck.  He  came  into  my  hands  in  this  way.  My 
father-in-law,  who  returned  to  the  army  during  the 
campaign,  met  this  young  fellow,  and  very  cleverly 
rescued  him  from  the  claws  of  those  who  captured 
Labedoyere.  He  came  here  to  defend  the  general, 
foolish  fellow!" 

"Do  you  call  him  that!"  cried  Ginevra,  casting  a 
glance  of  astonishment  on  the  painter,  who  was  silent 
for  a  moment. 

4 'My  father-in-law  is  too  closely  watched  to  be  able 
to  keep  him  in  his  own  house,"  he  resumed.  "So  he 
brought  him  to  me,  by  night,  about  a  week  ago.  I 
hoped  to  keep  him  out  of  sight  in  this  corner,  the  only 
spot  in  the  house  where  he  could  be  safe." 

"If  I  can  be  useful  to  you,  employ  me,"  said  Gin- 
evra.    "I  know  the  Marechal  de  Feltre." 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  replied  the  painter. 

This  conversation  lasted  too  long  not  to  be  noticed 
by  all  the  other  girls.  Servin  left  Ginevra,  went  round 
once  more  to  each  easel,  and  gave  such  long  lessons 
that  he  was  still  there  at  the  hour  when  the  pupils  were 
in  the  habit  of  leaving. 

"You  are  forgetting  your  bag,  Mademoiselle  Thi- 
rion,"  said  the  professor,  running  after  the  girl,  who 
was  now  condescending  to  the  work  of  a  spy  to  satisfy 
her  jealousy. 


Vendetta.  299 

The  baffled  pupil  returned  for  tbe  bag,  expressing 
surprise  at  her  carelessness;  but  this  act  of  Servin's 
was  to  her  fresh  proof  of  the  existence  of  a  mystery, 
the  importance  of  which  was  evident.  She  now  ran 
noisily  down  the  staircase,  and  slammed  the  door 
which  opened  into  the  Servins'  apartment,  to  give 
an  impression  that  she  had  gone ;  then  she  softly  re- 
turned and  stationed  herself  outside  the  door  of  the 
studio. 


300  Vendetta. 


III. 

labedoyere's  friend. 

When  the  painter  and  Ginevra  thought  themselves 
alone,  Servin  rapped  in  a  peculiar  manner  on  the  door 
of  the  dark  garret,  which  turned  at  once  on  its  rusty 
and  creaking  hinges.  Ginevra  then  saw  a  tall  and 
well-made  young  man,  whose  Imperial  uniform  set  her 
heart  to  beating.  The  officer  had  one  arm  in  a  sling, 
and  the  pallor  of  his  face  revealed  sharp  suffering. 
Seeing  an  unknown  woman,  he  recoiled. 

Amelie,  who  was  unable  to  look  into  the  room,  the 
door  being  closed,  was  afraid  to  stay  longer;  she  was 
satisfied  with  having  heard  the  opening  of  the  garret 
door,  and  departed  noiselessly. 

"Fear  nothing,"  said  the  painter  to  the  officer. 
"Mademoiselle  is  the  daughter  of  a  most  faithful 
friend  of  the  Emperor,  the  Baron  di  Piombo." 

The  young  soldier  retained  no  doubts  as  to  Ginevra's 
patriotism  as  soon  as  he  saw  her. 

"You  are  wounded,"  she  said. 

"Oh!  it  is  nothing,  mademoiselle,"  he  replied;  "the 
wound  is  healing." 


Vendetta.  301 

Just  at  this  moment  the  loud  cries  of  the  vendors  of 
newspapers  came  up  from  the  street:  "Condemned  to 
death!"  They  all  trembled,  and  the  soldier  was  the 
first  to  hear  a  name  that  turned  him  pale. 

"Labedoyere! "  he  cried,  falling  on  a  stool. 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  Drops  gath- 
ered on  the  livid  forehead  of  the  young  man;  he  seized 
the  black  tufts  of  his  hair  in  one  hand  with  a  gesture 
of  despair,  and  rested  his  elbow  on  Ginevra's  easel. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  rising  abruptly,  "Labedoyere 
and  I  knew  what  we  were  doing.  We  were  certain  of 
the  fate  that  awaited  us,  whether  from  triumph  or 
defeat.  He  dies  for  the  Cause,  and  here  am  I,  hiding 
myself ! " 

He  rushed  toward  the  door  of  the  studio;  but, 
quicker  than  he,  Ginevra  reached  it,  and  barred  his 
way. 

"Can  you  restore  the  Emperor?"  she  said.  "Do 
you  expect  to  raise  that  giant  who  could  not  maintain 
himself?" 

"But  what  can  I  do?  "  said  the  young  man,  address- 
ing the  two  friends  whom  chance  had  sent  to  him. 
"I  have  not  a  relation  in  the  world.  Labedoyere  was 
my  protector  and  my  friend;  without  him,  I  am  alone. 
T<>-morrow  I  myself  may  be  condemned;  my  only  for- 
tune was  my  pay.  I  spent  my  last  penny  to  come  here 
and  try  to  snatch  Labedoyere  from  his  fate;  death  is, 


302  Vendetta. 

therefore,  a  necessity  for  me.  When  a  man  decides 
to  die  he  ought  to  know  how  to  sell  his  life  to  the 
executioner.  I  was  thinking  just  now  that  the  life  of 
an  honest  man  is  worth  that  of  two  traitors,  and  the 
blow  of  a  dagger  well  placed  may  give  immortality. " 

This  spasm  of  despair  alarmed  the  painter,  and  even 
Ginevra,  whose  own  nature  comprehended  that  of  the 
young  man.  She  admired  his  handsome  face  and  his 
delightful  voice,  the  sweetness  of  which  was  scarcely 
lessened  by  its  tones  of  fury.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden, 
she  poured  a  balm  upon  the  wounds  of  the  unfortunate 
man:  — 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  "as  for  your  pecuniary  dis- 
tress, permit  me  to  offer  you  my  savings.  My  father 
is  rich ;  I  am  his  only  child ;  he  loves  me,  and  I  am 
sure  he  will  never  blame  me.  Have  no  scruple  in 
accepting  my  offer;  our  property  is  derived  from  the 
Emperor ;  we  do  not  own  a  penny  that  is  not  the  result 
of  his  munificence.  Is  it  not  gratitude  to  him  to  assist 
his  faithful  soldiers?  Take  the  sums  you  need  as 
indifferently  as  I  offer  them.  It  is  only  money!  "  she 
added,  in  a  tone  of  contempt.  "Now,  as  for  friends, 
—  those  you  shall  have." 

She  raised  her  head  proudly,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  dazzling  brilliancy. 

"The  head  which  falls  to-morrow  before  a  dozen 
muskets  will  save   yours,"  she  went  on.     "Wait  till 


Vendetta.  303 

the  storm  is  over ;  you  can  then  escape  and  take  service 
in  foreign  countries  if  }tou  are  not  forgotten  here;  or 
in  the  French  army,  if  you  are." 

In  the  comfort  that  women  give  there  is  always  a 
delicacy  which  has  something  maternal,  foreseeing, 
and  complete  about  it.  But  when  the  words  of  hope 
and  peace  are  said  with  grace  of  gesture  and  that  elo- 
quence of  tone  which  comes  from  the  heart,  and  when, 
above  all,  the  benefactress  is  beautiful,  a  young  man 
does  not  resist.  The  prisoner  breathed  in  love  through 
all  his  senses.  A  rosy  tinge  colored  his  white  cheeks ; 
his  eyes  lost  something  of  the  sadness  that  dulled  them, 
and  he  said,  in  a  peculiar  tone  of  voice  :  — 

"You  are  an  angel  of  goodness  —  But  Labedoyere !  " 
he  added.     4 '  Oh,  Labedoyere !  " 

At  this  cry  they  all  three  looked  at  one  another  in 
silence,  each  comprehending  the  others'  thoughts.  No 
longer  friends  of  twenty  minutes  only,  they  were 
friends  of  twenty  years. 

"Dear  friend,"  said  Servin,  "can  you  save  him?  " 

"I  can  avenge  him." 

Ginevra  quivered.  Though  ^e  granger  was  hand- 
some, his  appearance  had  not  influenced  her;  the  soft 
pity  in  a  woman's  heart  for  miseries  that  are  not  igno- 
ble had  stifled  in  Ginevra  all  other  emotions;  but  to 
hear  a  cry  of  vengeance,  to  find  in  that  proscribed 
being  an  Italian  soul,  devotion  to  Napoleon,  Corsican 


304  Vendetta. 

generosity!  —  ah!  that  was,  indeed,  too  much  for  her. 
She  looked  at  the  officer  with  a  respectful  emotion 
which  shook  his  heart.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  a 
man  had  caused  her  a  keen  emotion.  She  now,  like 
other  women,  put  the  soul  of  the  stranger  on  a  par  with 
the  noble  beauty  of  his  features  and  the  happy  pro- 
portions of  his  figure,  which  she  admired  as  an  artist. 
Led  by  accidental  curiosity  to  pity,  from  pity  to  a 
powerful  interest,  she  came,  through  that  interest,  to 
such  profound  sensations  that  she  felt  she  was  in  dan- 
ger if  she  stayed  there  longer. 

" Until  to-morrow,  then,"  she  said,  giving  the  officer 
a  gentle  smile  by  way  of  a  parting  consolation. 

Seeing  that  smile,  which  threw  a  new  light  on  Gin- 
evra's  features,  the  stranger  forgot  all  else  for  an 
instant. 

" To-morrow,"  he  said,  sadly;  ubut  to-morrow, 
Labedoyere  —  " 

Ginevra  turned,  put  a  finger  on  her  lips,  and  looked 
at  him,  as  if  to  say:  "Be  calm,  be  prudent." 

And  the  young  man  cried  out  in  his  own  language : 

"  Ah,  Dio !  che  non  vorrei  viyere  dopo  averla  veduta  ? 
—  who  would  not  wish  to  live  after  seeing  her?  M 

The  peculiar  accent  with  which  he  pronounced  the 
words  made  Ginevra  quiver. 

"Are  you  Corsican?"  she  cried,  returning  toward 
him  with  a  beating  heart. 


Vendetta.  305 , 

UI  was  bom  in  Corsica,"  he  replied;  "but  I  was 
brought,  while  very  young,  to  Genoa,  and  as  soon  as 
I  was  old  enough  for  military  service  I  enlisted." 

The  beauty  of  the  young  man,  the  mighty  charm  lent 
to  him  by  his  attachment  to  the  Emperor,  his  wound, 
his  misfortunes,  his  danger,  all  disappeared  to  Gin- 
evra's  mind,  or,  rather,  all  were  blended  in  one  senti- 
ment, —  a  new  and  delightful  sentiment.  This  perse- 
cuted man  was  a  child  of  Corsica;  he  spoke  its  cher- 
ished language!  She  stood,  for  a  moment,  motionless; 
held  by  a  magical  sensation;  before  her  eyes  was  a 
living  picture,  to  which  all  human  sentiments,  united 
by  chance,  gave  vivid  colors.  By  Servin's  invitation, 
the  officer  had  seated  himself  upon  a  divan,  and  the 
painter,  after  removing  the  sling  which  supported  the 
arm  of  his  guest,  was  undoing  the  bandages  in  order 
to  dress  the  wound.  Ginevra  shuddered  when  she  saw 
the  long,  broad  gash  made  by  the  blade  of  a  sabre  on 
the  young  man's  forearm,  and  a  moan  escaped  her. 
The  stranger  raised  his  head  and  smiled  to  her. 
There  was  something  touching  which  went  to  the  soul, 
in  the  care  with  which  Servin  lifted  the  lint  and  touched 
the  lacerated  flesh,  while  the  face  of  the  wounded  man, 
though  pale  and  sickly,  expressed,  as  he  looked  at  the 
girl,  more  pleasure  than  suffering.  An  artist  would 
have  admired,  involuntarily,  this  opposition  of  senti- 
ments, together   with  the   contrasts   produced  by  the 

20 


.306  Vendetta. 

whiteness  of  the  linen  and  the  bared  arm  to  the  red 
and  blue  uniform  of  the  officer. 

At  this  moment  a  soft  half-light  pervaded  the  studio ; 
but  a  parting  ray  of  the  evening  sunlight  suddenly 
illuminated  the  spot  where  the  soldier  sat,  so  that  his 
noble,  blanched  face,  his  black  hair,  and  his  clothes 
were  bathed  in  its  glow.  The  effect  was  simple 
enough,  but  to  the  girl's  Italian  imagination  it  was  a 
happy  omen.  The  stranger  seemed  to  her  a  celestial 
messenger,  speaking  the  language  of  her  own  country. 
He  thus  unconsciously  put  her  under  the  spell  of  child- 
hood's memories,  while  in  her  heart  there  dawned 
another  feeling  as  fresh,  as  pure  as  her  own  innocence. 
For  a  short,  very  short  moment,  she  was  motionless 
and  dreamy,  as  though  she  were  plunged  in  boundless 
thought.  Then  she  blushed  at  having  allowed  her 
absorption  to  be  noticed,  exchanged  one  soft  and 
rapid  glance  with  the  wounded  man,  and  fled  with  the 
vision  of  him  still  before  her  eyes. 

The  next  day  was  not  a  class-day,  but  Ginevra  came 
to  the  studio,  and  the  prisoner  was  free  to  sit  beside 
her  easel.  Servin,  who  had  a  sketch  to  finish,  played 
the  part  of  mentor  to  the  two  young  people,  who 
talked  to  each  other  chiefly  in  Corsican.  The  soldier 
related  the  sufferings  of  the  retreat  from  Moscow; 
for,  at  nineteen  years  of  age,  he  had  made  the  passage 
of  the  Beresina,  and  was  almost  the  last  man  left  of  his 


Vendetta.  307 

regiment.  He  described,  in  words  of  fire,  the  great 
disaster  of  Waterloo.  His  voice  was  music  itself  to 
the  Italian  girl.  Brought  up  as  a  Corsican,  Gin- 
evra  was,  in  some  sense,  a  child  of  Nature ;  falseness 
was  a  thing  unknown  to  her;  she  gave  herself  up 
without  reserve  to  her  impressions ;  she  acknowledged 
them,  or,  rather,  allowed  them  to  be  seen  without  the 
affectations  of  petty  and  calculating  coquetry,  charac- 
teristic of  Parisian  girlhood.  During  this  day  she  sat 
more  than  once  with  her  palette  in  one  hand,  her 
brushes  in  another,  without  touching  a  color.  With 
her  eyes  fastened  on  the  officer,  and  her  lips  slightly 
apart,  she  listened,  in  the  attitude  of  painting  a  stroke 
which  was  never  painted.  She  was  not  surprised  to 
see  such  softness  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  man,  for  she 
felt  that  her  own  were  soft  in  spite  of  her  will  to  keep 
them  stern  and  calm.  After  periods  like  this  she 
painted  diligently,  without  raising  her  head,  for  he 
was  there,  near  her,  watching  her  work.  The  first 
time  he  sat  down  beside  her  to  contemplate  her  silently, 
she  said,  in  a  voice  of  some  emotion,  after  a  long 
pause : — 

44 Does  it  amuse  you  to  see  me  paint?  " 

That  day   she   learned   that   his   name  was   Luigi. 

Before  separating,  it  was  agreed  between  them  that  if, 

on  class-days  when  they  could  not  see  each  other,  any 

important  political  event  occurred,  Ginevra  was  to  in- 


308  Vendetta. 

form  him  by  singing  certain  Corsican  melodies  then 
agreed  upon. 

The  following  day  Mademoiselle  Thirion  informed 
all  the  members  of  the  class,  under  pledge  of  secrecy 
that  Ginevra  di  Piombo  had  a  lover,  a  young  man  who 
came  during  the  hours  for  the  lesson,  and  concealed 
himself  in  the  garret  beyond  the  studio. 

"You,  who  take  her  part,"  she  said  to  Mademoiselle 
Koguin,  "  watch  her  carefully,  and  you  will  see  how 
she  spends  her  time." 

Ginevra  was,  therefore,  observed  with  diabolical 
attention.  They  listened  to  her  songs,  they  watched 
her  glances.  At  times,  when  she  supposed  that  no 
one  saw  her,  a  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  were  furtively  upon 
her.  Thus  enlightened,  the  girls  were  able  to  inter- 
pret truly  the  emotions  that  crossed  the  features  of 
the  beautiful  Italian, —  her  gestures,  the  peculiar  tones 
in  which  she  hummed  a  tune,  and  the  attention  with 
which  they  saw  her  listen  to  sounds  which  only  she 
could  hear  through  the  partition. 

By  the  end  of  a  week,  Laure  was  the  only  one  of  Ser- 
ving fifteen  pupils  who  had  resisted  the  temptation  of 
looking  at  Luigi  through  the  crevice  of  the  partition ; 
and  she,  through  an  instinct  of  weakness,  still  de- 
fended her  beautiful  friend.  Mademoiselle  Roguin 
endeavored  to  make  her  wait  on  the  staircase  after  the 
class  dispersed,  that  she  might  prove  to  her  the  inti- 


Vendetta.  309 

macy  of  Ginevra  and  the  young  man  by  entering  the 
studio  and  surprising  them  together.  But  Laure  re- 
fused to  condescend  to  an  act  of  espial  which  no  curi- 
osity could  justify,  and  she  consequently  became  the 
object  of  much  reprobation. 

Before  long  Mademoiselle  Thirion  made  known  that 
she  thought  it  improper  to  attend  the  classes  of  a 
painter  whose  opinions  were  tainted  with  patriotism 
and  Bonapartism  (in  those  days  the  terms  were  synon- 
ymous), and  she  ceased  her  attendance  at  the  studio. 
But,  although  she  herself  forgot  Ginevra,  the  harm  she 
had  planted  bore  fruit.  Little  by  little,  the  other  young 
girls  revealed  to  their  mothers  the  strange  events 
which  were  happening  at  the  studio.  One  day  Matilde 
Roguin  did  not  come;  the  next  clay  another  girl  was 
missing,  and  so  on,  till  the  last  three  or  four  who  were 
left  came  no  more.  Ginevra  and  Laure,  her  little 
friend,  were  the  sole  occupants  of  the  deserted  studio 
for  three  or  four  days. 

Ginevra  did  not  observe  this  falling  off,  nor  ask  the 
cause  of  her  companions'  absence.  As  soon  as  she 
had  invented  means  of  communication  with  Luigi  she 
lived  in  the  studio  in  a  delightful  solitude,  alone  amid 
her  own  world,  thinking  only  of  the  officer  and  the 
clangers  that  threatened  him.  Though  a  sincere  ad- 
mirer of  noble  characters  that  never  betray  their  po- 
litical faiths,  she  nevertheless  urged  Luigi  to  submit 


310  Vendetta. 

himself  to  the  royal  authority,  that  he  might  be  released 
from  his  present  life  and  remain  in  France.  But  to 
this  he  would  not  consent.  If  passions  are  born  and 
nourished,  as  they  say,  under  the  influence  of  roman- 
tic causes,  never  did  so  many  circumstances  of  that 
kind  concur  in  uniting  two  young  souls  by  one  and  the 
same  sentiment.  The  friendship  of  Ginevra  for  Luigi 
and  that  of  Luigi  for  Ginevra  made  more  progress 
in  a  month  than  a  friendship  in  society  would  make  in 
ten  years.  Adversity  is  the  touchstone  of  character. 
Ginevra  was  able,  therefore,  to  study  Luigi,  to  know 
him;  and  before  long  they  mutually  esteemed  each 
other.  The  girl,  who  was  older  than  Luigi,  found  a 
charm  in  being  courted  by  a  youth  already  so  grand, 
so  tried  by  fate, —  a  youth  who  joined  to  the  experience 
of  a  man  the  graces  of  adolescence.  Luigi,  on  his 
side,  felt  an  unspeakable  pleasure  in  allowing  himself 
to  be  apparently  protected  by  a  woman,  now  twenty- 
five  years  of  age.  Was  it  not  a  proof  of  love?  The 
union  of  gentleness  and  pride,  strength  and  weakness 
in  Ginevra  were,  to  him,  irresistible  attractions,  and 
he  was  utterly  subjugated  by  her.  In  short,  before 
long,  they  loved  so  profoundly  that  they  felt  no  need  of 
denying  to  each  other  their  love,  nor  yet  of  telling  it. 

One  day,  towards  evening,  Ginevra  heard  the  accus- 
tomed signal.  Luigi  scratched  with  a  pin  on  the  wood- 
work in  a  manner  that  produced  no  more  noise  than  a 


Vendetta.  311 

spider  might  make  as  he  fastened  his  thread.  The 
signal  meant  that  he  wished  to  come  out  of  his  retreat. 

Ginevra  glanced  around  the  studio,  and  not  seeing 
Laure,  opened  the  door;  but  as  she  did  so  Luigi  caught 
sight  of  the  little  pupil  and  abruptly  retired.  Sur- 
prised at  his  action,  Ginevra  looked  round,  saw  Laure, 
and  said,  as  she  went  up  to  the  girl's  easel:  — 

"You  are  staying  late,  my  dear.  That  head  seems 
to  me  finished;  you  only  want  a  high-light,  — see! 
on  that  knot  of  hair." 

"You  would  do  me  a  great  kindness,"  said  Laure, 
in  a  trembling  voice,  "if  you  would  give  this  copy  a 
few  touches;  for  then  I  could  carry  away  with  me 
something  to  remind  me  of  you." 

"Willingly,"  said  Ginevra,  painting  a  few  strokes 
on  the  picture.  "But  I  thought  it  was  a  long  way 
from  your  home  to  the  studio,  and  it  is  late." 

"Oh!  Ginevra,  lam  going  away,  never  to  return," 
cried  the  poor  girl,  sadly. 

"You  mean  to  leave  Monsieur  Servin !"  exclaimed 
Ginevra,  less  affected,  however,  by  this  news  than  she 
would  have  been  a  month  earlier. 

"Have  n't  you  noticed,  Ginevra,  that  for  some  days 
past  you  and  I  have  been  alone  in  the  studio?  " 

"True,"  said  Ginevra,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  recol- 
lection. "Are  all  those  young  ladies  ill,  or  going  to 
be  married,  or  are  their  fathers  on  duty  at  court?" 


312  Vendetta. 

"They  have  left  Monsieur  Servin,"  replied  Laure. 

"Why?" 

"On  your  account,  Ginevra." 

"My  account!  "  repeated  the  Corsican,  springing  up, 
with  a  threatening  brow  and  her  eyes  flashing. 

44 Oh!  don't  be  angry,  my  kind  Ginevra,"  cried 
Laure,  in  deep  distress.  "My  mother  insists  on  my 
leaving  the  studio.  The  young  ladies  say  that  you 
have  some  intrigue,  and  that  Monsieur  Servin  allows 
the  young  man  whom  you  love  to  stay  in  the  dark 
attic.  I  have  never  believed  these  calumnies  nor  said 
a  word  to  my  mother  about  them.  But  last  night 
Madame  Roguin  met  her  at  a  ball  and  asked  her  if 
she  still  sent  me  here.  When  my  mother  answered 
yes,  Madame  Roguin  told  her  the  falsehoods  of  those 
young  ladies.  Mamma  scolded  me  severely;  she  said 
I  must  have  known  it  all,  and  that  I  had  failed  in 
proper  confidence  between  mother  and  daughter  by  not 
telling  her.  Oh!  my  dear  Ginevra  I  I,  who  took  you 
for  my  model,  oh!  how  grieved  I  am  that  I  can't  be 
your  companion  any  longer." 

44 We  shall  meet  again  in  life;  girls  marry  —  "  said 
Ginevra. 

44 When  they  are  rich,"  sighed  Laure. 

44 Come  and  see  me;  my  father  has  a  fortune  —  " 

44 Ginevra,"  continued  Laure,  tenderly,  " Madame 
Roguin  and  my  mother  are  coming  to  see  Monsieur 


Vendetta.  313 

Servin  to-morrow  and  reproach  him;  had  n't  you  better 
warn  him." 

A  thunderbolt  falling  at  Ginevra's  feet  could  not 
have  astonished  her  more  than  this  revelation. 

44 What  matter  is  it  to  them?"  she  asked,  naively. 

44  Everybody  thinks  it  very  wrong.  Mamma  says  it 
is  immoral." 

44 And  you,  Laure,  what  do  you  say?" 

The  young  girl  looked  up  at  Ginevra,  and  their 
thoughts  united.  Laure  could  no  longer  keep  back 
her  tears;  she  flung  herself  on  her  friend's  breast  and 
sobbed.     At  this  moment  Servin  came  into  the  studio. 

"Mademoiselle  Ginevra,"  he  cried,  with  enthusiasm, 
44I  have  finished  my  picture!  it  is  now  being  var- 
nished. What  have  you  been  doing,  meanwhile? 
Where  are  the  young  ladies ;  are  they  taking  a  holi- 
day, or  are  they  in  the  country?" 

Laure  dried  her  tears,  bowed  to  Monsieur  Servin, 
and  went  away. 

44The  studio  has  been  deserted  for  some  days,"  re- 
plied Ginevra,  44and  the  young  ladies  are  not  coming 
back." 

"Pooh!" 

440h!  don't  laugh,"  said  Ginevra.  44Listen:  I  am 
the  involuntary  cause  of  the  loss  of  your  reputation  —  " 

The  artist  smiled,  and  said,  interrupting  his 
pupil:  — 


314  Vendetta. 

"My  reputation?  Why,  in  a  few  days  my  picture 
will  make  it  at  the  Exposition." 

uThat  relates  to  your  talent,"  replied  the  girl.  "I 
am  speaking  of  your  morality.  Those  young  ladies 
have  told  their  mothers  that  Luigi  was  shut  up  here, 
and  that  you  lent  yourself  —  to  —  our  love." 

"There  is  some  truth  in  that,  mademoiselle,"  replied 
the  professor.  "The  mothers  of  those  young  ladies 
are  foolish  women;  if  they  had  come  straight  to  me  I 
should  have  explained  the  matter.  But  I  don't  care  a 
straw  about  it!     Life  is  short,  anyhow." 

And  the  painter*  snapped  his  fingers  above  his 
head.  Luigi,  who  had  heard  part  of  the  conversa- 
tion, came  in. 

"You  have  lost  all  your  scholars,"  he  cried.  "I  have 
ruined  you ! " 

The  artist  took  Luigi' s  hand  and  that  of  Ginevra, 
and  joined  them. 

"Marry  one  another,  my  children,"  he  said,  with 
fatherly  kindness. 

They  both  dropped  their  eyes,  and  their  silence  was 
the  first  avowal  they  had  made  to  each  other  of  their 
love. 

"You  will  surely  be  happy,"  said  Servin.  "There 
is  nothing  in  life  to  equal  the  happiness  of  two  beings 
like  yourselves  when  bound  together  in  love?" 

Luigi  pressed  the  hand  of  his  protector  without  at 


Vendetta.  315 

first  being  able  to  utter  a  word;  but  presently  he  said, 
in  a  voice  of  emotion :  — 

"To  you  I  owe  it  all." 

"Be  happy!  I  bless  and  wed  you,"  said  the  painter, 
with  comic  unction,  laying  his  hands  upon  the  heads 
of  the  lovers. 

This  little  jest  put  an  end  to  their  strained  emotion. 
All  three  looked  at  one  another  and  laughed  merrily. 
Ginevra  pressed  Luigi's  hand  in  a  strong  clasp,  with  a 
simplicity  of  action  worthy  of  the  customs  of  her  native 
land. 

"Ah  ga,  my  dear  children,"  resumed  Servin,  "you 
think  that  all  will  go  right  now,  but  you  are  much 
mistaken." 

The  lovers  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"Don't  be  anxious.  I  'm  the  only  one  that  your 
romance  will  harm.  But  the  fact  is,  Madame  Servin 
is  a  little  straitlaced;  and  I  don't  really  see  how  we 
are  to  settle  it  with  her." 

"Heavens!  and  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  exclaimed 
Ginevra,  "that  Madame  Roguin  and  Laure's  mother 
are  coming  here  to-morrow  to  —  " 

"I  understand,"  said  the  painter. 

"But  you  can  easily  justify  yourself,"  continued 
the  girl,  with  a  proud  movement  of  her  head.  "Mon- 
sieur Luigi,"  she  added,  turning  to  him  with  an  arch 
look,    "will  no   longer  object  to   entering   the   royal 


316  Vendetta. 

service.  Well,  then,"  after  receiving  a  smile  from  the 
young  man,  "to-morrow  morning  I  will  send  a  peti- 
tion to  one  of  the  most  influential  persons  at  the  min- 
istry of  War,  —  a  man  who  will  refuse  nothing  to  the 
daughter  of  the  Baron  di  Piombo.  We  shall  obtain  a 
tacit  pardon  for  Captain  Luigi,  for,  of  course,  they 
will  not  allow  him  the  rank  of  major.  And  then," 
she  added,  addressing  Servin,  "you  can  confound  the 
mothers  of  my  charitable  companions  by  telling  them 
the  truth." 

"You  are  an  angel!  "  cried  Servin. 

While  this  scene  was  passing  at  the  studio  the  father 
and  mother  of  Ginevra  were  becoming  impatient  at 
her  non-return. 

"It  is  six  o'clock,  and  Ginevra  not  yet  home!  "  cried 
Bartolomeo. 

"She  was  never  so  late  before,"  said  his  wife. 

The  two  old  people  looked  at  each  other  with  an 
anxiety  that  was  not  usual  with  them.  Too  anxious 
to  remain  in  one  place,  Bartolomeo  rose  and  walked 
about  the  salon  with  an  active  step  for  a  man  who  was 
over  seventy-seven  years  of  age.  Thanks  to  his  robust 
constitution,  he  had  changed  but  little  since  the  day 
of  his  arrival  in  Paris,  and,  despite  his  tall  figure,  he 
walked  erect.  His  hair,  now  white  and  sparse,  left 
uncovered  a  broad  and  protuberant  skull,  which  gave  a 
strong  idea  of  his  character  and  firmness.     His  face, 


Vendetta.  317 

seamed  with  deep  wrinkles,  bad  taken,  with  age,  a 
nobler  expression,  preserving  the  pallid  tones  which 
inspire  veneration.  The  ardor  of  passions  still  lived 
in  the  fire  of  his  eyes,  while  the  eyebrows,  which  were 
not  wholly  whitened,  retained  their  terrible  mobility. 
The  aspect  of  the  head  was  stern,  but  it  conveyed  the 
impression  that  Piombo  had  a  right  to  be  so.  His 
kindness,  his  gentleness  were  known  only  to  his  wife 
and  daughter.  In  his  functions,  or  in  presence  of 
strangers,  he  never  laid  aside  the  majesty  that  time 
had  impressed  upon  his  person ;  and  the  habit  of  frown- 
ing with  his  heavy  eyebrows,  contracting  the  wrinkles 
of  his  face,  aud  giving  to  his  eyes  a  Napoleonic  fixity, 
made  his  manner  of  accosting  others  icy. 

During  the  course  of  his  political  life  he  had  been 
so  generally  feared  that  he  was  thought  unsocial,  and 
it  is  not  difficult  to  explain  the  causes  of  that  opinion. 
The  life,  morals,  and  fidelity  of  Piombo  made  him 
obnoxious  to  most  courtiers.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that 
delicate  missions  were  constantly  intrusted  to  his  dis- 
cretion which  to  any  other  man  about  the  court  would 
have  proved  lucrative,  he  possessed  an  income  of  not 
more  than  thirty  thousand  francs  from  an  investment 
on  the  Grand  Livre.  If  we  recall  the  cheapness  of 
government  securities  under  the  Empire,  and  the 
liberality  of  Napoleon  toward  those  of  his  faithful 
servants  who  knew  how  to  ask  for  it,  we  can  readily 


318  Vendetta. 

see  that  the  Baron  di  Piombo  must  have  been  a  man  of 
stern  integrity.  He  owed  his  plumage  as  baron  to  the 
necessity  Napoleon  felt  of  giving  him  a  title  before 
sending  him  on  missions  to  foreign  courts. 

Bartolomeo  had  always  professed  a  hatred  to  the 
traitors  with  whom  Napoleon  surrounded  himself,  ex- 
pecting to  bind  them  to  his  cause  by  dint  of  victories. 
It  was  he  of  whom  it  is  told  that  he  made  three  steps 
to  the  door  of  the  Emperor's  cabinet  after  advising 
him  to  get  rid  of  three  men  in  France  on  the  eve  of 
Napoleon's  departure  for  his  celebrated  and  admirable 
campaign  of  1814.  After  the  second  return  of  the 
Bourbons  Bartolomeo  ceased  to  wear  the  decoration  of 
the  Legion  of  honor.  No  man  offered  a  finer  image 
of  those  old  Republicans,  incorruptible  friends  to  the 
Empire,  who  remained  the  living  relics  of  the  two  most 
energetic  governments  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
Though  the  Baron  di  Piombo  displeased  mere  cour- 
tiers, he  had  the ,  Darus,  Drouots,  and  Carnots  with 
him  as  friends.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  politicians,  he 
cared  not  a  whiff  of  his  cigar's  smoke  for  them,  espe- 
cially since  Waterloo. 

Bartolomeo  di  Piombo  had  bought,  for  the  very 
moderate  sum  which  Madame  Mere,  the  Emperor's 
mother,  had  paid  him  for  his  estates  in  Corsica,  the 
old  mansion  of  the  Portenduere  family,  in  which  he 
had  made  no  changes.     Lodged,  usually,  at  the  cost  of 


Vendetta.  319 

the  government,  he  did  not  occupy  this  house  until 
after  the  catastrophe  of  Fontainebleau.  Following  the 
habits  of  simple  persons  of  strict  virtue,  the  baron 
and  his  wife  gave  no  heed  to  external  splendor;  their 
furniture  was  that  which  they  bought  with  the  man- 
sion. The  grand  apartments,  lofty,  sombre,  and  bare, 
the  wide  mirrors  in  gilded  frames  that  were  almost 
black,  the  furniture  of  the  period  of  Louis  XIV.  were 
in  keeping  with  Bartolomeo  and  his  wife,  personages 
worthy  of  antiquity. 

Under  the  Empire,  and  during  the  Hundred  Days, 
while  exercising  functions  that  were  liberally  rewarded, 
the  old  Corsican  had  maintained  a  great  establishment, 
more  for  the  purpose  of  doing  honor  to  his  office  than 
from  any  desire  to  shine  himself.  His  life  and  that 
of  his  wife  were  so  frugal,  so  tranquil,  that  their  mod- 
est fortune  sufficed  for  all  their  wants.  To  them,  their 
daughter  Ginevra  was  more  precious  than  the  wealth 
of  the  whole  world.  When,  therefore,  in  May,  1814, 
the  Baron  di  Piombo  resigned  his  office,  dismissed 
his  crowd  of  servants,  and  closed  his  stable  door,  Gin- 
evra, simple  and  unpretending  like  her  parents,  saw 
nothing  to  regret  in  the  change..  Like  all  great  souls, 
she  found  her  luxury  in  strength  of  feeling,  and  de- 
rived her  happiness  from  quietness  and  work.  These 
three  beings  loved  each  other  too  well  for  the  externals 
of  existence  to  be  of  value  in  their  eyes. 


320  Vendetta. 

Often,  and  especially  after  the  second  dreadful  fall 
of  Napoleon,  Bartolomeo  and  his  wife  passed  delight- 
ful evenings  alone  with  their  daughter,  listening  while 
she  sang  and  played.  To  them  there  was  a  vast  secret 
pleasure  in  the  presence,  in  the  slightest  word  of  that 
child;  their  eyes  followed  her  with  tender  anxiety; 
they  heard  her  step  in  the  court-yard,  lightly  as  she 
trod.  Like  iovers,  the  three  would  often  sit  silently 
together,  understanding  thus,  better  than  by  speech, 
the  eloquence  of  their  souls.  This  profound  senti- 
ment, the  life  itself  of  the  two  old  people,  animated 
their  every  thought.  Here  were  not  three  existences, 
but  one,  —  one  only,  which,  like  the  flame  on  the 
hearth,  divided  itself  into  three  tongues  of  fire.  If, 
occasionally,  some  memory  of  Napoleon's  benefits  and 
misfortunes,  if  the  public  events  of  the  moment  dis- 
tracted the  minds  of  the  old  people  from  this  source  of 
their  constant  solicitude,  they  could  always  talk  of 
those  interests  without  affecting  their  community  of 
thought,  for  Ginevra  shared  their  political  passions. 
What  more  natural,  therefore,  than  the  ardor  with 
which  they  found  a  refuge  in  the  heart  of  their  only 
child? 

Until  now  the  occupations  of  public  life  had  absorbed 
the  energy  of  the  Baron  di  Piombo ;  but  after  leaving 
those  employments  he  felt  the  need  of  casting  that 
energy  into  the  last  sentiment  that  remained  to  him. 


Vendetta.  321 

Apart  from  the  ties  of  parentage,  there  may  have  been, 
unknown  to  these  three  despotic  souls,  another  pow- 
erful reason  for  the  intensity  of  their  reciprocal  love : 
it  was  love  undivided.  Ginevra's  whole  heart  be- 
longed to  her  father,  as  Piombo's  whole  heart  belonged 
to  his  child ;  and  if  it  be  true  that  we  are  bound  to 
one  another  more  by  our  defects  than  by  our  virtues, 
Ginevra  echoed  in  a  marvellous  manner  the  passions 
of  her  father.  There  lay  the  sole  imperfection  of  this 
triple  life.  Ginevra  was  born  unyielding  of  will, 
vindictive,  and  passionate,  like  her  father  in  his 
youth. 

The  Corsican  had  taken  pleasure  in  developing  these 
savage  sentiments  in  the  heart  of  his  daughter,  pre- 
cisely as  a  lion  teaches  the  lion-cubs  to  spring  upon 
their  prey.  But  this  apprenticeship  to  vengeance 
having  no  means  of  action  in  their  family  life,  it  came 
to  pass  that  Ginevra  turned  the  principle  against  her 
father ;  as  a  child  she  forgave  him  nothing,  and  he  was 
forced  to  yield  to  her.  Piombo  saw  nothing  more  than 
childish  nonsense  in  these  fictitious  quarrels,  but  the 
child  was  all  the  while  acquiring  a  habit  of  ruling  her 
parents.  In  the  midst,  however,  of  the  tempests  which 
the  father  was  fond  of  exciting,  a  look,  a  word  of 
tenderness,  sufficed  to  pacify  their  angry  souls,  and 
often  they  were  never  so  near  to  a  kiss  as  when  they 
were  threatening  each  other  vehemently. 

21 


322  Vendetta. 

Nevertheless,  for  the  last  five  years,  Ginevra,  grown 
wiser  than  her  father,  avoided  such  scenes.  Her 
faithfulness,  her  devotion,  the  love  which  filled  her 
every  thought,  and  her  admirable  good  sense  had  got 
the  better  of  her  temper.  And  yet,  for  all  that,  a 
very  great  evil  had  resulted  from  her  training ;  Gin- 
evra lived  with  her  father  and  mother  on  the  footing 
of  an  equality  which  is  always  dangerous. 

Piombo  and  his  wife,  persons  without  education, 
had  allowed  Ginevra  to  study  as  she  pleased.  Follow- 
ing her  caprices  as  a  young  girl,  she  had  studied  all 
things  for  a  time,  and  then  abandoned  them,  — -  taking 
up  and  leaving  each  train  of  thought  at  will,  until,  at 
last,  painting  had  proved  to  be  her  dominant  passion. 
Ginevra  would  have  made  a  noble  woman  had  her 
mother  been  capable  of  guiding  her  studies,  of  en- 
lightening her  mind,  and  bringing  into  harmony  her 
gifts  of  nature ;  her  defects  came  from  the  fatal  educa- 
tion which  the  old  Corsican  had  found  delight  in 
giving  her. 

After  marching  up  and  down  the  room  for  some  time, 
Piombo  rang  the  bell ;  a  servant  entered. 

"Go  and  meet  Mademoiselle  Ginevra,"  said  his 
master. 

"I  always  regret  our  carriage  on  her  account,"  re- 
marked the  baroness 

"She  said  she  did  not  want  one,"  replied  Piombo, 


Vendetta.  323 

looking  at  bis  wife,  who,  accustomed  for  forty  years  to 
habits  of  obedience,  lowered  her  eyes  and  said  no 
more. 

Already  a  septuagenarian,  tall,  withered,  pale,  and 
wrinkled,  the  baroness  exactly  resembled  those  old 
women  whom  Schnetz  puts  into  the  Italian  scenes  of 
his  genre  pictures.  She  was  so  habitually  silent  that 
she  might  have  been  taken  for  another  Mrs.  Shandy; 
but,  occasionally,  a  word,  look,  or  gesture  betrayed 
that  her  feelings  still  retained  all  the  vigor  and  the 
freshness  of  their  youth.  Her  dress,  devoid  of 
coquetry,  was  often  in  bad  taste.  She  usually  sat  pas- 
sive, buried  in  a  low  sofa,  like  a  Sultana  Valide,  await- 
ing or  admiring  her  Ginevra,  her  pride,  her  life.  The 
beauty,  toilet,  and  grace  of  her  daughter  seemed 
to  have  become  her  own.  All  was  well  with  her  if 
Ginevra  was  happy.  Her  hair  was  white,  and  a  few 
strands  only  were  seen  above  her  white  and  wrinkled 
forehead,  or  beside  her  hollow  cheeks. 

"It  is  now  fifteen  days,"  she  said,  "since  Ginevra 
has  made  a  practice  of  being  late." 

"Jean  is  so  slow!"  cried  the  impatient  old  man, 
buttoning  up  his  blue  coat  and  seizing  his  hat,  which 
he  dashed  upon  his  head  as  he  took  his  cane  and 
departed. 

"You  will  not  get  far,"  said  his  wife,  calling  after 
him. 


324  Vendetta. 

As  she  spoke,  the  porte-cochere  was  opened  and  shut, 
and  the  old  mother  heard  the  steps  of  her  Ginevra  in 
the  court-yard.  Bartolomeo  almost  instantly  reap- 
peared, carrying  his  daughter,  who  struggled  in  his 
arms. 


Vendetta.  325 


IV. 

LOVE. 

"Here  she  is,  my  Ginevra,  Ginevrettina,  Ginev- 
rola,  mia  Ginevra  bella! "  cried  the  old  man. 

"Oh,  father,  you  hurt  me  !  " 

Instantly  Ginevra  was  put  down  with  an  air  of 
respect.  She  nodded  her  head  with  a  graceful  move- 
ment at  her  mother,  who  was  frightened  by  her  cry,  as 
if •  to  say,  "Don't  be  alarmed,  it  was  only  a  trick  to 
get  away." 

The  pale,  wan  face  of  the  baroness  recovered  its 
usual  tones,  and  even  assumed  a  look  of  gayety. 
Piombo  rubbed  his  hands  violently, — with  him  the 
surest  symptom  of  joy;  he  had  taken  to  this  habit 
at  court  when  he  saw  Napoleon  becoming  angry  with 
those  of  his  generals  and  ministers  who  served  him  ill 
or  committed  blunders.  When,  as  now,  the  muscles 
of  his  face  relaxed,  every  wrinkle  on  his  forehead  ex- 
pressed benevolence.  These  two  old  people  presented 
at  this  moment  precisely  the  aspect  of  a  drooping 
plant  to  which  a  little  water  has  given  fresh  life  after 
long  dryness. 


326  Vendetta. 

"Now,  to  dinner!  to  dinner!  "  cried  the  baron,  offer- 
ing his  large  hand  to  his  daughter,  whom  he  called 
"Signora  Piombellina,"  —  another  symptom  of  gayety, 
to  which  Ginevra  replied  by  a  smile. 

"Ah  $a  !  "  said  Piombo,  as  they  left  the  table,  "your 
mother  has  called  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  for 
some  weeks  you  have  stayed  much  longer  than  usual 
at  the  studio.  It  seems  that  painting  is  more  to  you 
than  your  parents  —  " 

"Oh,  father!  " 

"Ginevra  is  preparing  some  surprise  for  us,  I 
think,"  said  the  mother. 

"A  picture  of  your  own!  will  you  bring  us  that?" 
cried  the  Corsican,  clapping  his  hands. 

"Yes,  I  am  very  much  occupied  at  the  studio," 
replied  Ginevra,  rather  slowly. 

4 'What  is  the  matter,  Ginevra?  You  are  turning 
pale !  "  cried  her  mother. 

"No!  "  exclaimed  the  young  girl  in  a  tone  of  resolu- 
tion,—  "no!  it  shall  never  be  said  that  Ginevra 
Piombo  acted  a  lie." 

Hearing  this  singular  exclamation,  Piombo  and  his 
wife  looked  at  their  daughter  in  astonishment. 

"I  love  a  young  man,"  she  added,  in  a  voice  of 
emotion. 

Then,  not  venturing  to  look  at  her  parents,  she  low- 
ered her  large  eyelids  as  if  to  veil  the  fire  of  her  eyes. 


^endetta.  327 

"Is  he  a  prince?"  asked  her  father,  ironically,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  which  made  the  mother  quail. 

"No,  father,"  she  said,  gently,  "he  is  a  young  man 
without  fortune." 

"  Is  he  very  handsome  ?  " 

"He  is  very  unfortunate." 

"What  is  he?" 

"Labedoyere's  comrade;  he  was  proscribed,  with- 
out a  refuge;  Servin  concealed  him,  and  —  " 

"Servin  i's  a  good  fellow,  wrho  has  done  well,"  cried 
Piombo;  "but  you,  my  daughter,  you  do  wrong  to 
love  any  man,  except  your  father." 

"It  does  not  depend  on  me  to  love,  or  not  to  love," 
replied  Ginevra,  still  gently. 

"I  flattered  myself,"  continued  her  father,  "that  my 
Ginevra  would  be  faithful  to  me  until  I  died ;  and  that 
my  love  and  that  of  her  mother  would  suffice  her  till 
then;  I  did  not  expect  that  our  tenderness  would  find 
a  rival  in  her  soul,  and  —  " 

"Did  I  ever  reproach  you  for  your  fanaticism  for 
Napoleon?"  said  Ginevra.  "Have  you  never  loved 
any  one  but  me?  Did  you  not  leave  me  for  months 
together  when  you  went  on  missions.  I  bore  your 
absence  courageously.  Life  has  necessities  to  which 
we  must  all  submit." 

"Ginevra!" 

"No,  you  don't  love  me  for  myself ;  your  reproaches 
betray  your  intolerable  egotism." 


328  Vendetta. 

"You  dare  to  blame  your  father's  love!  "  exclaimed 
Piombo,  his  eyes  flashing. 

" Father,  I  don't  blame  you,"  replied  Ginevra,  with 
more  gentleness  than  her  trembling  mother  expected. 
"  You  have  grounds  for  your  egotism,  as  I  have  for  my 
love.  Heaven  is  my  witness  that  no  girl  has  ever 
fulfilled  her  duty  to  her  parents  better  than  I  have 
done  to  you.  I  have  never  felt  anything  but  love 
and  happiness  where  others  often  see  obligation.  It 
is  now  fifteen  years  that  I  have  never  left  your  protect- 
ing wing,  and  it  has  been  a  most  dear  pleasure  to  me 
to  charm  your  life.  But  am  I  ungrateful  for  all  this 
in  giving  myself  up  to  the  joy  of  loving ;  is  it  ingrati- 
tude to  desire  a  husband  who  will  protect  me  here- 
after?" 

"What!  do  you  reckon  benefits  with  your  father, 
Ginevra?"  said  Piombo,  in  a  dangerous  tone. 

A  dreadful  pause  then  followed,  during  which  no 
one  dared  to  speak.  Bartolomeo  at  last  broke  the 
silence  by  crying  out  in  a  heart-rending  tone :  — 

"Oh!  stay  with  us!  stay  with  your  father,  your  old 
father!  I  cannot  have  you  love  another  man.  Gin- 
evra, you  will  not  have  long  to  await  your  liberty." 

"But,  father,  remember  that  I  need  not  leave  you; 
we  shall  be  two  to  love  you ;  you  will  learn  to  know  the 
man  to  whose  care  you  bequeath  me.  You  will  be 
doubly  cherished  by  me  and  by  him,  — by  him  who  is 
my  other  self,  by  me  who  am  all  his." 


Vendetta.  329 

"Oh!  Ginevra,  Ginevra!"  cried  the  Corsican, 
clenching  his  fists;  "why  did  you  not  marry  when 
Napoleon  brought  me  to  accept  the  idea?  Why  did  you 
not  take  the  counts  and  dukes  he  presented  to  you?" 

"They  loved  me  to  order,"  said  the  girl.  "Besides, 
they  would  have  made  me  live  with  them,  and  I  did 
not  wish  to  leave  you  alone." 

"You  don't  wish  to  leave  me  alone,"  said  Piombo, 
"and  yet  you  marry!  —  that  is  leaving  me  alone.  I 
know  you,  my  daughter;  in  that  case,  you  would  cease 
to  love  us.  £lisa,"  he  added,  looking  at  his  wife, 
who  remained  motionless,  and  as  if  stupefied,  "we  have 
no  longer  a  daughter;  she  wishes  to  marry." 

The  old  man  sat  down,  after  raising  his  hands  to 
heaven  with  a  gesture  of  invoking  the  Divine  power; 
then  he  bowed  himself  over  as  if  weighed  down  with 
sorrow. 

Ginevra  saw  his  agitation,  and  the  restraint  which 
he  put  upon  his  anger  touched  her  to  the  heart;  she 
expected  some  violent  crisis,  some  ungovernable  f ury ; 
she  had  not  armed  her  soul  against  paternal  gentleness. 

"Father,"  she  said,  in  a  tender  voice,  "no,  you  shall 
never  be  abandoned  by  your  Ginevra.  But  love  her  a 
little  for  her  own  sake.  If  you  knew  how  he  loves 
me!     Ah!  he  would  never  make  me  unhappy!  " 

"  Comparisons  already !  "  cried  Piombo,  in  a  terrible 
voice.     "No,  I  can   never   endure   the   idea  of  your 


330  Vendetta. 

marriage.  If  he  loved  you  as  you  deserve  to  be  loved 
he  would  kill  me;  if  he  did  not  love  you,  I  should 
put  a  dagger  through  him." 

The  hands  of  the  old  man  trembled,  his  lips  trem- 
bled, his  body  trembled,  but  his  eyes  flashed  light- 
nings. Ginevra  alone  was  able  to  endure  his  glance, 
for  her  eyes  flamed  also,  and  the  daughter  was  worthy 
of  the  sire. 

"Oh!  to  love  you!  What  man  is  worthy  of  such  a 
life?  "  continued  Piombo.  "To  love  you  as  a  father  is 
paradise  on  earth;  who  is  there  worthy  to  be  your 
husband?" 

"He,"  said  Ginevra;  "he  of  whom  I  am  not  worthy." 

"He?"  repeated  Piombo,  mechanically;  "who  is 
he?" 

"He  whom  I  love." 

"How  can  he  know  you  enough  to  love  you?" 

"Father,"  said  Ginevra,  with  a  gesture  of  impa- 
tience, "whether  he  loves  me  or  not,  if  I  love  him  —  " 

"You  love  him?"  cried  Piombo. 

Ginevra  bent  her  head  softly. 

"You  love  him  more  than  you  love  us?  " 

"The  two  feelings  cannot  be  compared,"  she  replied. 

"Is  one  stronger  than  the  other?  " 

"I  think  it  is,"  said  Ginevra. 

"You  shall  not  marry  him,"  cried  the  Corsican,  his 
voice  shaking  the  window-panes. 


Vendetta.  331 

"I  shall  marry  him,"  replied  Ginevra,  tranquilly. 

"Oh,  God!  "  cried  the  mother,  "how  will  this  quarrel 
end?     Santa  Virginal  place  thyself  between  them !  " 

The  baron,  who  had  been  striding  up  and  down  the 
room,  now  seated  himself;  an  icy  sternness  darkened 
his  face ;  he  looked  fixedly  at  his  daughter,  and  said  to 
her,  in  a  gentle,  weakened  voice,  — 

"Ginevra,  no!  you  will  not  marry  him.  Oh!  say 
nothing  more  to-night  —  let  me  think  the  contrary. 
Do  you  wish  to  see  your  father  on  his  knees,  his  white 
hairs  prostrate  before  you?     I  supplicate  you  —  " 

"Ginevra  Piombo  does  not  pass  herwrord  and  break 
it,"  she  replied.     "I  am  your  daughter." 

"She  is  right,"  said  the  baroness.  "We  are  sent 
into  the  world  to  marry." 

"Do  you  encourage  her  in  disobedience?  "  said  the 
baron  to  his  wife,  who,  terrified  by  the  word,  now 
changed  to  marble. 

"Refusing  to  obey  an  unjust  order  is  not  disobedi- 
ence," said  Ginevra. 

"No  order  can  be  unjust  from  the  lips  of  your 
father,  my  daughter.  Why  do  you  judge  my  action? 
The  repugnance  that  I  feel  is  counsel  from  on  high, 
sent,  it  may  be,  to  protect  you  from  some  great  evil." 

"The  only  evil  could  be  that  he  did  not  love  me." 

"Always  he!" 

"Yes,  always,"  she  answered.     "He  is  my  life,  my 


332  Vendetta. 

good,  my  thought.  Even  if  I  obeyed  you  he  would 
be  ever  in  my  soul.  To  forbid  me  to  marry  him  is  to 
make  me  hate  you." 

"You  love  us  not!  "  cried  Piombo. 

"Oh! "  said  Ginevra,  shaking  her  head. 

"Well,  then,  forget  him;  be  faithful  to  us.  After 
we  are  gone  —  you  understand  ?  " 

" Father,  do  you  wish  me  to  long  for  your  death?" 
cried  Ginevra. 

"I  shall  outlive  you.  Children  who  do  not  honor 
their  parents  die  early,"  said  the  father,  driven  to 
exasperation. 

"All  the  more  reason  why  I  should  marry  and  be 
happy,"  she  replied. 

This  coolness  and  power  of  argument  increased 
Piombo's  trouble;  the  blood  rushed  violently  to  his 
head,  and  his  face  turned  purple.  Ginevra  shuddered ; 
she  sprang  like  a  bird  on  her  father's  knee,  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  caressed  his  white  hair, 
exclaiming,  tenderly :  — 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  let  me  die  first!  I  could  never  sur- 
vive you,  my  father,  my  kind  father !  " 

"Oh!  my  Ginevra,  my  own  Ginevra!"  replied 
Piombo,  whose  anger  melted  under  this  caress  like  snow 
beneath  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

"It  was  time  you  ceased,"  said  the  baroness,  in  a 
trembling  voice. 


Vendetta.  333 

"Poor  mother!"* 

" Ah!  Ginevretta!  mia  bella  Ginevra!  " 
And  the  father  played  with  his  daughter  as  though 
she  were  a  child  of  six.  He  amused  himself  by  re- 
leasing the  waving  volume  of  her  hair,  by  dandling 
her  on  his  knee;  there  was  something  of  madness  in 
these  expressions  of  his  love.  Presently  his  daughter 
scolded  while  kissing  him,  and  tried,  by  jesting,  to 
obtain  admission  for  Luigi;  but  her  father,  also  jest- 
ing, refused.  She  sulked,  then  returned  to  coax  once 
more,  and  sulked  again,  until,  by  the  end  of  the  eve- 
ning, she  was  forced  to  be  content  with  having  im- 
pressed upon  her  father's  mind  both  her  love  for  Luigi 
and  the  idea  of  an  approaching  marriage. 

The  next  day  she  said  no  more  about  her  love ;  she 
was  more  caressing  to  her  father  than  she  had  ever 
been,  and  testified  the  utmost  gratitude,  as  if  to  thank 
him  for  the  consent  he  seemed  to  have  given  by  his 
silence.  That  evening  she  sang  and  played  to  him  for 
a  long  time,  exclaiming  now  and  then :  "  We  want  a 
man's  voice  for  this  nocturne."  Ginevra  was  an 
Italian,  and  that  says  all. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  her  mother  signed  to  her.     She 
went;  and  Elisa  Piombo  whispered  in  her  ear:  — 
UI  have  persuaded  your  father  to  receive  him." 
"Oh!  mother,  how  happy  you  have  made  me!" 
That  day  Ginevra  had  the  joy  of  coming  home  on 


334  Vendetta. 

the  arm  of  her  Luigi.  The  officer  eame  out  of  his 
hiding-place  for  the  second  time  only.  The  earnest 
appeals  which  Ginevra  made  to  the  Due  de  Feltre,  then 
minister  of  war,  had  been  crowned  with  complete  suc- 
cess. Luigi' s  name  was  replaced  upon  the  roll  of 
officers  awaiting  orders.  This  was  the  first  great  step 
toward  better  things.  Warned  by  Ginevra  of  the  diffi- 
culties he  would  encounter  with  her  father,  the  young 
man  dared  not  express  his  fear  of  finding  it  impossible 
to  please  the  old  man.  Courageous  under  adversity, 
brave  on  a  battlefield,  he  trembled  at  the  thought  of 
entering  Piombo's  salon.  Ginevra  felt  him  tremble, 
and  this  emotion,  the  source  of  which  lay  in  her, 
was,  to  her  eyes,  another  proof  of  love. 

"How  pale  you  are!"  she  said  to  him  when  they 
reached  the  door  of  the  house. 

"Oh!  Ginevra,  if  it  concerned  my  life  only!  —  " 

Though  Bartolomeo  had  been  notified  by  his  wife  of 
the  formal  presentation  Ginevra  was  to  make  of  her 
lover,  he  would  not  advance  to  meet  him,  but  remained 
seated  in  his  usual  arm-chair,  and  the  sternness  of  his 
brow  was  awful. 

"Father,"  said  Ginevra,  "I  bring  you  a  person  you 
will  no  doubt  be  pleased  to  see,  —  a  soldier  who  fought 
beside  the  Emperor  at  Mont- Saint- Jean." 

The  baron  rose,  cast  a  sidelong  glance  on  Luigi,  and 
said,  in  a  sardonic  tone:  — 

"Monsieur  is  not  decorated." 


Vendetta.  335 

"I  no  longer  wear  the  Legion  of  honor,"  replied 
Luigi,  timidly,  still  standing. 

Ginevra,  mortified  by  her  father's  incivility,  dragged 
forward  a  chair.  The  officer's  answer  seemed  to  sat- 
isfy the  old  servant  of  Napoleon.  Madame  Piombo, 
observing  that  her  husband's  eyebrows  were  resuming 
their  natural  position,  said,  by  way  of  conversation : 

"Monsieur's  resemblance  to  a  person  we  knew  in 
Corsica,  Nina  Porta,  is  really  surprising." 

"Nothing  could  be  more  natural,"  replied  the  young 
man,  on  whose  face  Piombo's  flaming  eyes  now  rested. 
"Nina  was  my  sister." 

"Are  you  Luigi  Porta?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"Yes." 

Bartolomeo  rose,  tottered,  was  forced  to  lean  against 
a  chair  and  beckon  to  his  wife.  Elisa  Piombo  came 
to  him.  Then  the  two  old  people,  silently,  each  sup- 
porting the  other,  left  the  room,  abandoning  their 
daughter  with  a  sort  of  horror. 

Luigi  Porta,  bewildered,  looked  at  Ginevra,  who  had 
turned  as  white  as  a  marble  statue,  and  stood  gazing 
at  the  door  through  which  her  father  and  mother  had 
disappeared.  This  departure  and  this  silence  seemed 
to  her  so  solemn  that,  for  the  first  time  in  her  whole 
life,  a  feeling  of  fear  entered  her  soul.  She  struck 
her  hands  together  with  great  force,  and  said,  in  a 
voice  so  shaken  that  none  but  a  lover  could  have  heard 
the  words :  — 


336  Vendetta. 

"What  misery  in  a  word!  " 

"In  the  name  of  our  love,  what  have  I  said?  "  asked 
Luigi  Porta. 

"My  father,"  she  replied,  "never  spoke  to  me  of 
our  deplorable  history,  and  I  was  too  young  when  we 
left  Corsica  to  know  anything  about  it." 

"Are  we  in  vendetta?"  asked  Luigi,  trembling. 

"Yes.  I  have  heard  my  mother  say  that  the  Portas 
killed  my  brother  and  burned  our  house.  My  father 
then  massacred  the  whole  family.  How  is  it  that 
you  survived  ?  —  for  you  were  tied  to  the  posts  of  the 
bed  before  they  set  fire  to  the  house." 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Luigi.  "I  was  taken  to 
Genoa  when  six  years  old,  and  given  in  charge  of  an 
old  man  named  Colonna.  No  detail  about  my  family 
was  told  to  me.  I  knew  only  that  I  was  an  orphan, 
and  without  property.  Old  Colonna  was  a  father  to 
me ;  and  I  bore  his  name  until  I  entered  the  army.  In 
order  to  do  that,  I  had  to  show  my  certificate  of  birth 
in  order  to  prove  my  identity.  Colonna  then  told  me, 
still  a  mere  child,  that  I  had  enemies.  And  he  advised 
me  to  take  Luigi  as  my  surname,  and  so  evade  them." 

"Go,  go,  Luigi!  "  cried  Ginevra.  "No,  stay;  I  must 
go  with  you.  So  long  as  you  are  in  my  father's  house 
you  have  nothing  to  fear;  but  the  moment  you  leave 
it,  take  care !  you  will  go  from  danger  to  danger.  My 
father  has  two  Corsicans  in  his  service,  and  if  he  does 
not  lie  in  wait  to  kill  you,  they  will." 


Vendetta.  337 

"Ginevra,"  he  said,  "this  feud,  does  it  exist  between 
you  and  me?" 

The  girl  smiled  sadly  and  bowed  her  head.  Presr 
ently  she  raised  it,  and  said,  with  a  sort  of  pride:  — 

"Oh,  Luigi,  our  love  must  be  pure  and  sincere,  in- 
deed, to  give  me  strength  to  tread  the  path  I  am  about 
to  enter.  But  it  involves  a  happiness  that  will  last 
throughout  our  lives,  will  it  not?" 

Luigi  answered  by  a  smile,  and  pressed  her  hand. 

Ginevra  comprehended  that  true  love  should  despise 
all  vulgar  protestations  at  such  a  moment.  This  calm 
and  restrained  expression  of  his  feelings  foreshad- 
owed, in  some  sense,  their  strength  and  their  duration. 

The  destiny  of  the  pair  was  then  and  there  decided. 
Ginevra  foresaw  a  cruel  struggle,  but  the  idea  of  aban- 
doning Luigi  —  an  idea  which  may  have  floated  in  her 
soul  —  vanished  completely.  His  forever,  she  dragged 
him  suddenly,  with  a  sort  of  desperate  energy,  from 
her  father's  house,  and  did  not  leave  him  till  she  saw 
him  reach  the  house  where  Servin  had  engaged  a  mod- 
est lodging:. 

By  the  time  she  reached  home,  Ginevra  had  attained 
to  that  serenity  which  is  caused  by  a  firm  resolution ; 
no  sign  in  her  manner  betrayed  uneasiness.  She 
turned  on  her  father  and  mother,  whom  she  found  in 
the  act  of  sitting  down  to  dinner,  a  glance  of  exceed- 
ing gentleness  devoid  of   hardihood.     She   saw    that 


338  Vendetta. 

her  mother  had  been  weeping;  the  redness  of  those 
withered  eyelids  shook  her  heart,  but  she  hid  her  emo- 
tion. No  one  touched  the  dinner  which  was  served  to 
them.  A  horror  of  food  is  one  of  the  chief  symptoms 
which  reveal  a  great  crisis  in  life.  All  three  rose  from 
table  without  having  addressed  a  single  word  to  one 
another. 

When  Ginevra  had  placed  herself  between  her  father 
and  mother  in  the  great  and  gloomy  salon,  Piombo 
tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him;  he  tried  to 
walk,  but  he  had  no  strength  in  his  legs.  He  returned 
to  his  seat  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Pietro,"  he  said,  at  last,  to  the  footman,  "light 
the  fire;  I  am  cold." 

Ginevra  trembled,  and  looked  at  her  father  anx- 
iously. The  struggle  within  him  must  have  been  horri- 
ble, for  his  face  was  distorted.  Ginevra  knew  the 
extent  of  the  peril  before  her,  but  she  did  not  flinch. 
Bartolomeo,  meanwhile,  cast  furtive  glances  at  his 
daughter,  as  if  he  feared  a  character  whose  violence 
was  the  work  of  his  own  hands. 

Between  such  natures  all  things  must  be  extreme. 
The  certainty  of  some  impending  change  in  the  feelings 
of  father  and  daughter  gave  to  the  worn  and  weary 
face  of  the  baroness  an  expression  of  terror. 

"Ginevra,  you  love  the  enemy  of  your  family,"  said 
Piombo,  at  last,  not  daring  to  look  at  his  daughter. 


Vendetta.  339 

"That  is  true,"  she  replied. 

44  You  must  choose  between  us.  Our  vendetta  is  a 
part  of  our  being.  Whoso  does  not  share  my  ven- 
geance is  not  a  member  of  my  family." 

"My  choice  is  made,"  replied  Ginevra,  calmly. 

His  daughter's  tranquillity  misled  Bartolomeo. 

"Oh!  my  dear  child!"  he  cried,  letting  her  see  his 
eyes  moistened  with  tears,  the  first  and  the  only  tears 
he  ever  shed  in  life. 

"I  shall  be  his  wife,"  said  Ginevra,  abruptly. 

Bartolomeo  seemed  dazed  for  a  moment,  but  he  re- 
covered his  coolness  instantly,  and  replied:  — 

"The  marriage  will  not  take  place  in  my  lifetime;  I 
will  never  consent  to  it." 

Ginevra  kept  silence. 

44 Ginevra,"  continued  the  baron,  "have  you  reflected 
that  Luigi  is  the  son  of  a  man  who  killed  your 
brother?" 

"  He  was  six  years  old  when  that  crime  was  com- 
mitted; he  was,  therefore,  not  guilty  of  it,"  she  replied. 

44 He  is  a  Porta!  "  cried  Bartolomeo. 

44  /  have  never  shared  that  hatred,"  said  Ginevra, 
eagerly.  "You  did  not  bring  me  up  to  think  a  Porta 
must  be  a  monster.  How  could  I  know  that  one  of 
those  whom  you  thought  you  had  killed  survived?  Is 
it  not  Datura]  that  you  should  now  yield  your  vendetta 
to  my  feelings?" 


340  Vendetta. 

"A  Porta!"  repeated  Piombo.  "If  his  father  had 
found  you  in  your  bed  you  would  not  be  living  now; 
he  would  have  taken  your  life  a  hundred  times." 

"It  may  be  so,"  she  answered;  "but  his  son  has 
given  me  life,  and  more  than  life.  To  see  Luigi  is  a 
happiness  without  which  I  cannot  live.  Luigi  has 
revealed  to  me  the  world  of  sentiments.  I  may,  per- 
haps, have  seen  faces  more  beautiful  than  his,  but 
none  has  ever  charmed  me  thus;  I  may  have  heard 
voices  —  no,  no,  never  any  so  melodious !  Luigi  loves 
me;  he  will  be  my  husband." 

"Never,"  said  Piombo.  "I  would  rather  see  you  in 
your  coffin,  Ginevra." 

The  old  Corsican  rose  and  began  to  stride  up  and 
down  the  salon,  dropping  the  following  sentences,  one 
by  one,  after  pauses  which  betrayed  his  agitation. 

"  You  think  you  can  bend  my  will.  Undeceive  your- 
self. A  Porta  shall  never  be  my  son ;  that  is  my  de- 
cree. Let  there  be  no  farther  question  of  this  between 
us.  I  am  Bartolomeo  di  Piombo;  do  you  hear  me, 
Ginevra?" 

"Do  you  attach  some  mysterious  meaning  to  those 
words  ?  "  she  asked,  coldly. 

"They  mean  that  I  have  a  dagger,  and  that  I  do  not 
fear  man's  justice.  Corsicans  explain  themselves  to 
God." 

"And  I,"  said  the  daughter,  rising,  "am  Ginevra 


Vendetta.  341 

di  Piombo,  and  I  declare  that  within  six  months  I 
shall  be  the  wife  of  Luigi  Porta.  You  are  a  tyrant, 
my  father,"  she  added,  after  a  terrifying  pause. 

Bartolomeo  clenched  his  fists  and  struck  them  on 
the  marble  of  the  chimneypiece. 

"Ah!  we  are  in  Paris!  "  he  muttered. 

Then  he  was  silent,  crossed  his  arms,  bowed  his  head 
on  his  breast,  and  said  not  another  word  during  the 
whole  evening. 

After  once  giving  utterance  to  her  will,  Ginevra 
affected  inconceivable  coolness.  She  opened  the  piano 
and  sang,  played  charming  nocturnes  and  scherzos 
with  a  grace  and  sentiment  which  displayed  a  perfect 
freedom  of  mind,  thus  triumphing  over  her  father, 
whose  darkling  face  showed  no  softening.  The  old 
man  was  cruelly  hurt  by  this  tacit  insult;  he  gathered 
in  this  one  moment  the  bitter  fruits  of  the  training  he 
had  given  to  his  daughter.  Respect  is  a  barrier  which 
protects  parents  as  it  does  children,  sparing  grief  to 
the  former,  remorse  to  the  latter. 

The  next  day,  when  Ginevra  sought  to  leave  the 
house  at  the  hour  when  she  usually  went  to  the  studio, 
she  found  the  gates  of  the  mansion  closed  to  her. 
She  said  nothing,  but  soon  found  means  to  inform 
Luigi  Porta  of  her  father's  severity.  A  chambermaid, 
who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  was  able  to  carry 
letters  between  the  lovers.     For  five  days  they  corres- 


342  Vendetta. 

ponded  thus,  thanks  to  the  inventive  shrewdness  of 
youth. 

The  father  and  daughter  seldom  spoke  to  each  other. 
Both  were  nursing  in  the  depths  of  their  heart  a  senti- 
ment of  hatred;  they  suffered,  but  they  suffered 
proudly,  and  in  silence.  Recognizing  how  strong 
were  the  ties  of  love  which  bound  them  to  each  other, 
they  each  tried  to  break  them,  but  without  success. 
No  gentle  thought  came,  as  formerly,  to  brighten  the 
stern  features  of  Piombo  when  he  contemplated  his 
Ginevra.  The  girl  had  something  savage  in  her  eye 
as  she  looked  at  her  father;  reproach  sat  enthroned  on 
that  innocent  brow ;  she  gave  herself  up,  it  is  true,  to 
happy  thoughts,  and  yet,  at  times,  remorse  seemed  to 
dull  her  eyes.  It  was  not  difficult  to  believe  that  she 
could  never  enjoy,  peacefully,  any  happiness  which 
caused  sorrow  to  her  parents. 

With  Bartolomeo,  as  with  his  daughter,  the  hesita- 
tions of  this  period  caused  by  the  native  goodness  of 
their  souls  were,  nevertheless,  compelled  to  give  way 
before  their  pride  and  the  rancor  of  their  Corsican 
nature.  They  encouraged  each  other  in  their  anger, 
and  closed  their  eyes  to  the  future.  Perhaps  they 
mutually  flattered  themselves  that  the  one  would  yield 
to  the  other. 

At  last,  on  Ginevra' s  birthday,  her  mother,  in 
despair  at  the  estrangement  which,  day  by  day,  as- 


Vendetta.  343 

sumed  a  more  serious  character,  meditated  an  attempt 
to  reconcile  the  father  and  daughter,  by  help  of  the 
memories  of  this  family  anniversary.  They  were  all 
three  sitting  in  Bartolomeo's  study.  Ginevra  guessed 
her  mother's  intention  by  the  timid  hesitation  on  her 
face,  and  she  smiled  sadly. 

At  this  moment  a  servant  announced  two  notaries, 
accompanied  by  witnesses.  Bartolomeo  looked  fix- 
edly at  these  persons,  whose  cold  and  formal  faces  were 
grating  to  souls  so  passionately  strained  as  those  of 
the  three  chief  actors  in  this  scene.  The  old  man 
turned  to  his  daughter  and  looked  at  her  uneasily.  He 
saw  upon  her  face  a  smile  of  triumph  which  made  him 
expect  some  shock ;  but,  after  the  manner  of  savages, 
he  affected  to  maintain  a  deceitful  indifference  as  he 
gazed  at  the  notaries  with  an  assumed  air  of  calm 
curiosity.  The  strangers  sat  down,  after  being  invited 
to  do  so  by  a  gesture  of  the  old  man. 

4 'Monsieur  is,  no  doubt,  M.  le  Baron  di  Piombo?" 
began  the  oldest  of  the  notaries. 

Bartolomeo  bowed.  The  notary  made  a  slight 
inclination  of  the  head,  looked  at  Ginevra  with  a.  sly 
expression,  took  out  his  snuff-box,  opened  it,  and 
slowly  inhaled  a  pinch,  as  if  seeking  for  the  words 
with  which  to  open  his  errand;  then,  while  uttering 
them,  he  made  continual  pauses  (an  oratorical  ma- 
noeuvre very  imperfectly  represented  by  the  printer's 
dash  —  ). 


344  Vendetta. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,"  I  am  Monsieur  Roguin,  your 
daughter's  notary,  and  we  have  come  —  my  colleague 
and  I  —  to  fulfil  the  intention  of  the  law  and  —  put  an 
end  to  the  divisions  which  —  appear  —  to  exist  — 
between  yourself  and  Mademoiselle,  your  daughter,  — 
on  the  subject  —  of  —  her  —  marriage  with  Monsieur 
Luigi  Porta." 

This  speech,  pedantically  delivered,  probably 
seemed  to  Monsieur  Roguin  so  fine  that  his  hearer 
could  not  at  once  understand  it.  He  paused,  and 
looked  at  Bartolomeo  with  that  peculiar  expression  of 
the  mere  business  lawyer,  a  mixture  of  servility  with 
familiarity.  Accustomed  to  feign  much  interest  in  the 
persons  with  whom  they  deal,  notaries  have  at  last  pro- 
duced upon  their  features  a  grimace  of  their  own,  which 
they  take  on  and  off  as  an  official  pallium.  This  mask 
of  benevolence,  the  mechanism  of  which  is  so  easy  to 
perceive,  irritated  Bartolomeo  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  wa3  forced  to  collect  all  the  powers  of  his  reason  to 
prevent  him  from  throwing  Monsieur  Roguin  through 
the  window.  An  expression  of  anger  ran  through  his 
wrinkles,  which  caused  the  notary  to  think  to  himself : 
"I  've  produced  an  effect." 

"But,"  he  continued,  in  a  honeyed  tone,  "Monsieur 
le  baron,  on  such  occasions  our  duties  are  preceded 
by  —  efforts  at  —  conciliation  —  Deign,  therefore, 
to  have  the  goodness  to  listen  to  me  —     It  is  in  evi- 


Vendetta.  345 

dence  that  Mademoiselle  Ginevra  di  Piombo  —  attains 
this  very  day  —  the  age  at  which  the  law  allows  a 
respectful  summons  before  proceeding  to  the  celebra- 
tion of  a  marriage  —  in  spite  of  the  non-consent  of 
parents.  Now  —  it  is  usual  in  families  —  who  enjoy  a 
certain  consideration  —  who  belong  to  society  —  who 
preserve  some  dignity  —  to  whom,  in  short,  it  is 
desirable  not  to  let  the  public  into  the  secret  of  their 
differences  —  and  who,  moreover,  do  not  wish  to  injure 
themselves  by  blasting  with  reprobation  the  future  of 
a  young  couple  (for  —  that  is  injuring  themselves),  it 
is  usual,  I  say  —  among  these  honorable  families 
—  not  to  allow  these  summonses  —  to  take  place  —  or 
remain  —  a  monument  to  —  divisions  which  should 
end  —  by  ceasing  —  Whenever,  monsieur,  a  young 
lady  has  recourse  to  respectful  summons,  she  exhibits  a 
determination  too  marked  to  allow  of  a  father  —  of  a 
mother,"  here  he  turned  to  the  baroness,  " hoping  or 
expecting  that  she  will  follow  their  wishes  —  Pater- 
nal resistance  being  null  —  by  reason  of  this  fact  — 
in  the  first  place  —  and  also  from  its  being  nullified  by 
law,  it  is  customary  —  for  every  sensible  man  —  after 
making  a  final  remonstrance  to  his  child  —  and  before 
she  proceeds  to  the  respectful  summons  —  to  leave 
her  mi  Liberty  to  —  " 

Monsieur  Roguin  stopped,  perceiving  that  he  might 
talk  on  for  two  hours  without  obtaining  any  answer; 


346  Vendetta. 

he  felt,  moreover,  a  singular  emotion  at  the  aspect  of 
the  man  he  was  attempting  to  convert.  An  extraor- 
dinary revolution  had  taken  place  on  Piombo's  face; 
his  wrinkles,  contracting  into  narrow  lines,  gave  him 
a  look  of  indescribable  cruelty,  and  he  cast  upon  the 
notary  the  glance  of  a  tiger.  The  baroness  was  mute 
and  passive.  Ginevra,  calm  and  resolute,  waited 
silently;  she  knew  that  the  notary's  voice  was  more 
potent  than  hers,  and  she  seemed  to  have  decided  to 
say  nothing.  At  the  moment  when  Roguin  ceased 
speaking,  the  scene  had  become  so  terrifying  that  the 
men  who  were  there  as  witnesses  trembled ;  never,  per- 
haps, had  they  known  so  awful,  a  silence.  The  notaries 
looked  at  each  other,  as  if  in  consultation,  and  finally 
rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"Did  you  ever  meet  people  born  into  the  world  like 
that?"  asked  Roguin  of  his  brother  notary. 

"You  can't  get  anything  out  of  him,"  replied  the 
younger  man.  "In  your  place,  I  should  simply  read 
the  summons.  That  old  fellow  is  n't  a  comfortable  per- 
son ;  he  is  furious,  and  you  '11  gain  nothing  whatever 
by  arguing  with  him." 

Monsieur  Roguin  then  read  a  stamped  paper,  contain- 
ing the  "respectful  summons,"  prepared  for  the  occa- 
sion ;  after  which  he  proceeded  to  ask  Bartolomeo  what 
answer  he  made  to  it. 

"Are  there  laws  in  France  which  destroy  paternal 
authority?  —  "  demanded  the  Corsican. 


Vendetta.  347 

"Monsieur  —  "  said  Roguin,  in  his  honeyed  tones. 

'"Which  tear  a  daughter  from  her  father?  —  " 

"Monsieur  —  " 

"Which  deprive  an  old  man  of  his  last  consola- 
tion?—" 

"Monsieur,  your  daughter  only  belongs  to  you 
if  —  " 

"And  kill  him?  —  " 

"Monsieur,  permit  me  —  " 

There  is  nothing  more  horrible  than  the  coolness  and 
precise  reasoning  of  notaries  amid  the  many  passion- 
ate scenes  in  which  they  are  accustomed  to  take  part. 

The  forms  that  Piombo  saw  about  him  seemed,  to  his 
eyes,  escaped  from  hell ;  his  repressed  and  concentrated 
rage  knew  no  longer  any  bounds  as  the  calm  and  fluted 
voice  of  the  little  notary  uttered  the  words:  "permit 
me."  By  a  sudden  movement  he  sprang  to  a  dagger 
that  was  hanging  to  a  nail  above  the  fireplace,  and 
rushed  toward  his  daughter.  The  younger  of  the  two 
notaries  and  one  of  the  witnesses  threw  themselves 
before  Ginevra;  but  Piombo  knocked  them  violently 
down,  his  face  on  fire,  and  his  eyes  casting  flames 
more  terrifying  than  the  glitter  of  the  dagger.  When 
Ginevra  saw  him  approach  her  she  looked  at  him  fix- 
edly with  an  air  of  triumph,  and  advancing  slowly, 
knelt  down.  "No,  no!  I  cannot!  "  he  cried,  flinging 
away  the  weapon,  which  buried  itself  in  the  wainscot. 


348  Vendetta. 

"Well,  then!  have  mercy!  have  pity!"  she  said. 
"You  hesitate  to  be  my  death,  and  you  refuse  me  life! 
Oh!  father,  never  have  I  loved  you  as  I  do  at  this 
moment;  give  me  Luigi!  I  ask  for  your  consent  upon 
my  knees:  a  daughter  can  humiliate  herself  before 
her  father.  My  Luigi,  give  me  my  Luigi,  or  I 
die!" 

The  violent  excitement  which  suffocated  her  stopped 
her  words,  for  she  had  no  voice ;  her  convulsive  move- 
ments showed  plainly  that  she  lay,  as  it  were,  between 
life  and  death.  Bartolomeo  roughly  pushed  her  from 
him. 

"Go,"  he  said.  "  The  wife  of  Luigi  Porta  cannot  be 
a  Piombo.  I  have  no  daughter.  I  have  not  the 
strength  to  curse  you,  but  I  cast  you  off ;  you  have  no 
father.  My  Ginevra  Piombo  is  buried  here,"  he  said, 
in  a  deep  voice,  pressing  violently  on  his  heart.  "Go, 
leave  my  house,  unhappy  girl,"  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  silence.  "Go,  and  never  come  into  my 
sight  again." 

So  saying,  he  took  Ginevra  by  the  arm  to  the  gate 
of  the  house  and  silently  put  her  out. 

"Luigi!"  cried  Ginevra,  entering  the  humble  lodg- 
ing of  her  lover,  — "my  Luigi,  we  have  no  other  for- 
tune than  our  love." 

"Then  am  I  richer  than  the  kings  of  the  earth!  "  he 
cried. 


Vendetta.  349 

"My  father  and  my  mother  have  cast  me  off,"  she 
said,  in  deepest  sadness. 

"I  will  love  you  in  place  of  them." 

"Then  let  us  be  happy, — we  will  be  happy!"  she 
cried,  with  a  gayety  in  which  there  was  something 
dreadful. 


350  Vendetta. 


V. 

MARRIAGE. 

The  clay  after  Ginevra  was  driven  from  her  father's 
house  she  went  to  ask  Madame  Servin  for  asylum  and 
protection  until  the  period  fixed  by  law  for  her  mar- 
riage to  Luigi  Porta. 

Here  began  for  her  that  apprenticeship  to  trouble 
which  the  world  strews  about  the  path  of  those  who  do 
not  follow  its  conventions.  Madame  Servin  received 
her  very  coldly,  being  much  annoyed  by  the  harm 
which  Ginevra's  affair  had  inflicted  on  her  husband, 
and  told  her,  in  politely  cautious  words,  that  she  must 
not  count  upon  her  help  in  future.  Too  proud  to  per- 
sist, but  amazed  at  a  selfishness  hitherto  unknown  to 
her,  the  girl  took  a  room  in  the  lodging-house  that  was 
nearest  to  that  of  Luigi.  The  son  of  the  Portas  passed 
all  his  days  at  the  feet  of  his  future  wife;  and  his 
youthful  love,  the  purity  of  his  words,  dispersed  the 
clouds  from  the  mind  of  the  banished  daughter;  the 
future  was  so  beautiful  as  he  painted  it  that  she  ended 
by  smiling  joyfully,  though  without  forgetting  her 
father's  severity. 


Vendetta.  •  351 

One  morning  the  servant  of  the  lodging  house 
brought  to  Ginevra's  room  a  number  of  trunks  and 
packages  containing  stuffs,  linen,  clothes,  and  a  great 
quantity  of  other  articles  Necessary  for  a  young  wife 
in  setting  up  a  home  of  her  own.  In  this  welcome 
provision  she  recognized  her  mother's  foresight,  and, 
on  examining  the  gifts,  she  found  a  purse,  in  which 
the  baroness  had  put  the  money  belonging  to  her 
daughter,  adding  to  it  the  amount  of  her  own  savings. 
The  purse  was  accompanied  by  a  letter,  in  which  the 
mother  implored  the  daughter  to  forego  the  fatal  mar- 
riage if  it  were  still  possible  to  do  so.  It  had  cost 
her,  she  said,  untold  difficulty  to  send  these  few  things 
to  her  daughter;  she  entreated  her  not  to  think  her 
hard  if,  henceforth,  she  were  forced  to  abandon  her  to 
want;  she  feared  she  could  never  again  assist  her;  but 
she  blessed,  her  and  prayed  for  her  happiness  in  this 
fatal  marriage,  if,  indeed,  she  persisted  in  making  it, 
assuring  her  that  she  should  never  cease  to  think  of 
her  darling  child.  Here  the  falling  tears  had  effaced 
some  words  of  the  letter. 

44 Oh,  mother!  "  cried  Ginevra,  deeply  moved. 

She  felt  the  impulse  to  rush  home,  to  breathe  the 
blessed  air  of  her  father's  house,  to  fling  herself  at  his 
feet,  to  see  her  mother.  She  was  springing  forward 
to  accomplish  this  wish,  when  Luigi  entered.  At  the 
mere  sight  of  him  her  filial  emotion  vanished ;  her  tears 


352  Vendetta. 

were  stopped,  and  she  no  longer  had  the  strength  to 
abandon  that  loving  and  unfortunate  youth.  To  be 
the  sole  hope  of  a  noble  being,  to  love  him  and  then 
abandon  him!  —  that  sacrifice  is  a  treachery  of  which 
young  hearts  are  incapable.  Ginevra  had  the  gener- 
osity to  bury  her  own  grief  and  suffering  silently  in 
her  soul. 

The  marriage  day  arrived.  Ginevra  had  no  friend 
with  her.  While  she  was  dressing,  Luigi  fetched  the 
witnesses  necessary  to  sign  the  certificate  of  marriage. 
These  witnesses  were  worthy  persons;  one,  a  cavalry 
sergeant,  was  under  obligations  to  Luigi,  contracted 
on  the  battlefield,  obligations  which  are  never  obliter- 
ated from  the  heart  of  an  honest  man;  the  other,  a 
master-mason,  was  the  proprietor  of  the  house  in  which 
the  young  couple  had  hired  an  apartment  for  their 
future  home.  Each  witness  brought  a  friend,  and  all 
four,  with  Luigi,  came  to  escort  the  bride.  Little 
accustomed  to  social  functions,  and  seeing  nothing  in 
the  service  they  were  rendering  Luigi  but  a  simple 
matter  of  business,  they  were  dressed  in  their  ordinary 
clothes,  without  any  luxury,  and  nothing  about  them 
denoted  the  usual  joy  of  a  marriage  procession. 

Ginevra  herself  was  dressed  simply,  as  befitted  her 
present  fortunes ;  and  yet  her  beauty  was  so  noble  and 
so  imposing  that  the  words  of  greeting  died  away  upon 
the  lips  of   the  witnesses,  who  supposed  themselves 


Vendetta.  353 

obliged  to  pay  her  some  usual  compliments.  They 
bowed  to  her  with  respect,  and  she  returned  the  bow; 
hut  they  did  so  in  silence,  looking  at  her  with  admira- 
tion. This  reserve  cast  a  chill  bver  the  whole  party. 
Joy  never  bursts  forth  freely  except  among  those  who 
are  equals.  Thus  chance  determined  that  all  should  be 
dull  and  grave  around  the  bridal  pair;  nothing  re- 
flected, outwardly,  the  happiness  that  reigned  within 
their  hearts. 

The  church  and  the  mayor's  office  being  near  by, 
Luigi  and  Ginevra,  followed  by  the  four  witnesses 
required  by  law,  walked  the  distance,  with  a  simplicity 
that  deprived  of  all  pomp  this  greatest  event  in  social 
life.  They  saw  a  crowd  of  waiting  carriages  in  the 
mayor's  court-yard;  and  when  they  reached  the  great 
hall  where  the  civil  marriages  take  place,  they  found 
two  other  wedding-parties  impatiently  awaiting  the 
mayor's  arrival. 

Ginevra  sat  down  beside  Luigi  at  the  end  of  a  long 
bench;  their  witnesses  remained  standing,  for  want 
of  seats.  Two  brides,  elaborately  dressed  in  white, 
with  ribbons,  laces,  and  pearls,  and  crowned  with 
orange-blossoms  whose  satiny  petals  nodded  beneath 
their  veils,  were  surrounded  by  joyous  families,  and 
accompanied  by  their  mothers,  to  whom  they  looked 
up,  now  and  then,  with  eyes  that  were  content  and 
timid  both;  the  faces  of  all  the  rest  reflected  happi- 

23 


354  Vendetta, 

ness,  and  seemed  to  be  invoking  blessings  on  the  youth- 
ful pairs.  Fathers,  witnesses,  brothers,  and  sisters 
went  and  came,  like  a  happy  swarm  of  insects  disport- 
ing in  the  sun.  Each  'seemed  to  be  impressed  with  the 
value  of  this  passing  moment  of  life,  when  the  heart 
finds  itself  between  two  hopes,  —  the  wishes  of  the 
past,  the  promises  of  the  future. 

As  she  watched  them,  Ginevra's  heart  swelled  within 
her;  she  pressed  Luigi's  arm,  and  gave  him  a  look.  A 
tear  rolled  from  the  eyes  of  the  young  Corsican ;  never 
did  he  so  well  understand  the  joys  that  his  Ginevra 
was  sacrificing  to  him.  That  precious  tear  caused  her 
to  forget  all  else  but  him,  —  even  the  abandonment  in 
which  she  sat  there.  Love  poured  down  its  treasures 
of  light  upon  their  hearts ;  they  saw  nought  else  but 
themselves  in  the  midst  of  the  joyous  tumult;  they 
were  there  alone,  in  that  crowd,  as  they  were  destined 
to  be,  henceforth,  in  life.  Their  witnesses,  indifferent 
to  what  was  happening,  conversed  quietly  on  their  own 
affairs. 

4 'Oats  are  very  dear,"  said  the  sergeant  to  the 
mason. 

uBut  they  have  not  gone  up  like  lime,  relatively 
speaking,"  replied  the  contractor. 

Then  they  walked  round  the  hall. 

"How  one  loses  time  here,"  said  the  mason,  replac- 
ing a  thick  silver  watch  in  his  fob. 


Vendetta.  355 

Luigi  and  Ginevra,  sitting  pressed  to  one  another, 
seemed  like  one  person.  A  poet  would  have  admired 
their  two  heads,  inspired  by  the  same  sentiment,  col- 
ored in  the  same  tones,  silent  and  saddened  in  presence 
of  that  humming  happiness  sparkling  in  diamonds, 
gay  with  flowers,  — a  gayety  in  which  there  was  some- 
thing fleeting.  The  joy  of  those  noisy  and  splendid 
groups  was  visible;  that  of  Ginevra  and  Luigi  was 
buried  in  their  bosom.  On  one  side  the  tumult  of 
common  pleasure,  on  the  other,  the  delicate  silence  of 
happy  souls,  — earth  and  heaven! 

But  Ginevra  was  not  wholly  free  from  the  weak- 
nesses of  women.  Superstitious  as  an  Italian,  she 
saw  an  omen  in  this  contrast,  and  in  her  heart  there 
lay  a  sense  of  terror,  as  invincible  as  her  love. 

Suddenly  the  office  servant,  in  the  town  livery, 
opened  a  folding-door.  Silence  reigned,  and  his  voice 
was  heard,  like  the  yapping  of  a  dog,  calling  Monsieur 
Luigi  da  Porta  and  Mademoiselle  Ginevra  di  Piombo. 
This  caused  some  embarrassment  to  the  young  pair. 
The  celebrity  of  the  bride's  name  attracted  attention, 
and  the  spectators  seemed  to  wonder  that  the  wedding 
was  not  more  sumptuous.  Ginevra  rose,  took  Luigi's 
ii ini,  and  advanced  firml}7,  followed  by  the  witnesses. 
A  murmur  of  surprise,  which  went  on  increasing,  and 
a  general  whispering  reminded  Ginevra  that  all  present 
were  wondering  at  the  absence  of  her  parents;  her 
father's  wrath  seemed  present  to  her. 


356  Vendetta. 

"Call  in  the  families,"  said  the  mayor  to  the  clerk 
whose  business  it  was  to  read  aloud  the  certificates. 

"The  father  and  mother  protest,"  replied  the  clerk, 
phlegmatically. 

"On  both  sides?"  inquired  the  mayor. 

"The  groom  is  an  orphan." 

"Where  are  the  witnesses?" 

"Here,"  said  the  clerk,  pointing  to  the  four  men, 
who  stood  with  arms  folded,  like  so  many  statues. 

"But  if  the  parents  protest  —  ".began  the  mayor. 

"The  respectful  summons  has  been  duly  served," 
replied  the  clerk,  rising,  to  lay  before  the  mayor  the 
papers  annexed  to  the  marriage  certificate. 

This  bureaucratic  discussion  had  something  blight- 
ing about  it;  in  a  few  words  it  contained  the  whole 
story.  The  hatred  of  the  Portas  and  the  Piombos  and 
their  terrible  passions  were  inscribed  on  this  page  of 
the  civil  law  as  the  annals  of  a  people  (contained,  it 
may  be,  in  one  word  only,  —  Napoleon,  Robespierre) 
are  engraven  on  a  tombstone.  Ginevra  trembled.  Like 
the  dove  on  the  face  of  the  waters,  having  no  place  to 
rest  its  feet  but  the  ark,  so  Ginevra  could  take  refuge 
only  in  the  eyes  of  Luigi  from  the  cold  and  dreary 
waste  around  her. 

The  mayor  assumed  a  stern,  disapproving  air,  and 
his  clerk  looked  up  at  the  couple  with  malicious 
curiosity.    No  marriage  was  ever  so  little  festal.     Like 


Vendetta.  357 

other  human  things  when  deprived  of  their  accessories, 
it  became  a  simple  act  in  itself,  great  only  in  thought. 

After  a  few  questions,  to  which  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  responded,  and  a  few  words  mumbled  by 
the  mayor,  and  after  signing  the  registers,  with  their 
witnesses,  duly,  Luigi  and  Ginevra  were  made  one. 
Then  the  wedded  pair  walked  back  through  two  lines 
of  joyous  relations  who  did  not  belong  to  them,  and 
whose  only  interest  in  their  marriage  was  the  delay 
caused  to  their  own  wedding  by  this  gloomy  bridal. 
When,  at  last,  Ginevra  found  herself  in  the  mayor's 
court-yard,  under  the  open  sky,  a  sigh  escaped  her 
breast. 

"  Can  a  lifetime  of  devotion  and  love  suffice  to  prove 
my  gratitude  for  your  courage  and  tenderness,  my 
Ginevra?"  said  Luigi. 

At  these  words,  said  with  tears  of  joy,  the  bride 
forgot  her  sufferings;  for  she  had  indeed  suffered  in 
presenting  herself  before  the  public  to  obtain  a  happi- 
ness her  parents  refused  to  sanction. 

"Why  should  others  come  between  us?"  she  said 
with  an  artlessness  of  feeling  that  delighted  Luigi. 

A  sense  of  accomplished  happiness  now  made  the  step 
of  t lie  young  pair  lighter;  they  saw  neither  heaven,  nor 
earth,  nor  houses;  they  flew,  as  it  were,  on  wings  to  the 
church.  When  they  reached  ft  dark  little  chapel  in 
one  corner  of  the  building,  and  stood  before  a  plain, 


358  Vendetta. 

undecorated  altar,  an  old  priest  married  them.  There, 
as  in  the  mayor's  office,  two  other  marriages  were 
taking  place,  still  pursuing  them  with  pomp.  The 
church,  filled  with  friends  and  relations,  echoed  with 
the  roll  of  carriages,  and  the  hum  of  beadles,  sextons, 
and  priests.  Altars  were  resplendent  with  sacramen- 
tal luxury ;  the  wreaths  of  orange-flowers  that  crowned 
the  figures  of  the  Virgin  were  fresh.  Flowers,  in- 
cense, gleaming  tapers,  velvet  cushions  embroidered 
with  gold,  were  everywhere.  When  the  time  came  to 
hold  above  the  heads  of  Luigi  and  Ginevra  the  symbol 
of  eternal  union,  —  that  yoke  of  satin,  white,  soft,  bril- 
liant, light  for  some,  lead  for  most,  —  the  priest  looked 
about  him  in  vain  for  the  acolytes  whose  place  it 
was  to  perform  that  joyous  function.  Two  of  the 
witnesses  fulfilled  it  for  them.  The  priest  addressed 
a  hasty  homily  to  the  pair  on  the  perils  of  life,  on  the 
duties  they  must,  some  day,  inculcate  upon  their  chil- 
dren, —  throwing  in,  at  this  point,  an  indirect  reproach 
to  Ginevra  on  the  absence  of  her  parents ;  then,  after 
uniting  them  before  God,  as  the  mayor  had  united 
them  before  the  law,  he  left  the  now  married  couple. 

"God  bless  them!  "  said  Vergniaud,  the  sergeant,  to 
the  mason,  when  they  reached  the  church  porch.  "No 
two  creatures  were  ever  more  fitted  for  one  another. 
The  parents  of  the  girl  are  foolish.  I  don't  know  a 
braver    soldier   than   Colonel    Luigi.      If    the   whole 


Vendetta.  359 

army  had  behaved  like  him,  Vautre  would  be  here 
still." 

This  blessing  of  the  old  soldier,  the  only  one  be- 
stowed upon  their  marriage-day,  shed  a  balm  on 
Ginevra's  heart. 

They  parted  with  hearty  shakings  of  hand;  Luigi 
thanked  his  landlord. 

"  Adieu,  mon  brave,"  he  said  to  the  sergeant.  "I 
thank  you." 

"I  am  now  and  ever  at  your  service,  colonel, — 
soul,  body,  horses,  and  carriages;  all  that  is  mine  is 
yours." 

"How  he  loves  you!  "  said  Ginevra. 

Luigi  now  hurried  his  bride  to  the  house  they  were 
to  occupy.  Their  modest  apartment  was  soon  reached ; 
and  there,  when  the  door  closed  upon  them,  Luigi  took 
his  wife  in  his  arms,  exclaiming,  — ' 

"Oh,  my  Ginevra!  for  now  you  are  mine,  here  is 
our  true  wedding.  Here,"  he  added,  "all  things  will 
smile  upon  us." 

Together  they  went  through  the  three  rooms  con- 
tained in  their  lodging.  The  room  first  entered  served 
as  salon  and  dining-room  in  one;  on  the  right  was  a 
bedchamber,  on  the  left  a  large  study  which  Luigi  had 
arranged  for  his  wife;  in  it  she  found  easels,  color- 
boxes,  lay-figures,  casts,  pictures,  portfolios,  —  iu 
short,  the  paraphernalia  of  an  artist. 


360  Vendetta. 

"So  here  I  am  to  work!  "  she  said,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  childlike  happiness. 

She  looked  long  at  the  hangings  and  the  furniture, 
turning  again  and  again  to  thank  Luigi,  for  there  was 
something  that  approached  magnificence  in  the  little 
retreat.  A  bookcase  contained  her  favorite  books ;  a 
piano  filled  an  angle  of  the  room.  She  sat  down  upon 
a  divan,  drew  Luigi  to  her  side,  and  said,  in  a  caress- 
ing voice,  her  hand  in  his,  — 

"You  have  good  taste." 

"Those  words  make  me  happy,"  he  replied. 

"But  let  me  see  all,"  said  Ginevra,  to  whom  Luigi 
had  made  a  mystery  of  the  adornment  of  the  rooms. 

They  entered  the  nuptial  chamber,  fresh  and  white 
as  a  virgin. 

"Oh!  come'  away,"  said  Luigi,  smiling. 

"But  I  wish  to  see  all." 

And  the  imperious  Ginevra  looked  at  each  piece  of 
furniture  with  the  minute  care  of  an  antiquary  exam- 
ining a  coin;  she  touched  the  silken  hangings,  and 
went  over  every  article  with  the  artless  satisfaction  of 
a  bride  in  the  treasures  of  her  wedding  outfit. 

"We  begin  by  ruining  ourselves,"  she  said,  in  a 
half-joyous,  half-anxious  tone. 

"True!  for  all  my  back-pay  is  there,"  replied  Luigi. 
"I  have  mortgaged  it  to  a  worthy  fellow  named 
Gi«;onnet." 


Vendetta.  361 

uWhy  did  you  do  so?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  re- 
proach, through  which  could  be  heard  her  inward  sat- 
isfaction. "Do  you  believe  I  should  be  less  happy  in 
a  garret?  But,"  she  added,  "it  is  all  charming,  and 
—  it  is  ours!  " 

Luigi  looked  at  her  with  such  enthusiasm  that  she 
lowered  her  eyes. 

"Now  let  us  see  the  rest,"  she  cried. 

Above  these  three  rooms,  under  the  roof,  was  a 
study  for  Luigi,  a  kitchen,  and  a  servant's-room. 
Ginevra  was  much  pleased  with  her  little  domain,  al- 
though the  view  from  the  windows  was  limited  by  the 
high  wall  of  a  neighboring  house,  and  the  court-yard, 
from  which  their  light  was  derived,  was  gloomy.  But 
the  two  lovers  were  so  happy  in  heart,  hope  so  adorned 
their  future,  that  they  chose  to  see  nothing  but  what 
was  charming  in  their  hidden  nest.  They  were  there 
in  that  vast  house,  lost  in  the  immensity  of  Paris,  like 
two  pearls  in  their  shell  in  the  depths  of  ocean ;  to  all 
others  it  might  have  seemed  a  prison;  to  them  it  was 
paradise. 

The  first  few  days  of  their  union  were  given  to  love. 
The  effort  to  turn  at  once  to  work  was  too  difficult; 
they  could  not  resist  the  charm  of  their  own  passion. 
Luigi  lay  for  hours  at  the  feet  of  his  wife,  admiring 
the  color  of  her  hair,  the  moulding  of  her  forehead, 
the   enchanting   socket   of   her   eyes,  the   purity  and 


362  Vendetta. 

whiteness  of  the  two  arches  beneath  which  the  eyes 
themselves  turned  slowly,  expressing  the  happiness  of 
a  satisfied  love.  Ginevra  caressed  the  hair  of  her 
Luigi,  never  weary  of  gazing  at  what  she  called  his 
belta  folgorante,  and  the  delicacy  of  his  features. 
She  was  constantly  charmed  by  the  nobility  of  his 
manners,  as  she  herself  attracted  him  by  the  grace  of 
hers. 

They  played  together,  like  children,  with  nothings, 

—  nothings  that  brought  them  ever  back  to  their  love, 

—  ceasing  their  play  only  to  fall  into  a  revery  of  the 
far  niente.  An  air  sung  by  Ginevra  reproduced  to 
their  souls  the  enchanting  lights  and  shadows  of  their 
passion.  Together,  uniting  their  steps  as  they  did 
their  souls,  they  roamed  about  the  country,  finding 
everywhere  their  love,  —  in  the  flowers,  in  the  sky,  in 
the  glowing  tints  of  the  setting  sun;  they  read  it  in 
even  the  capricious  vapors  which  met  and  struggled  in 
the  ether.  Each  day  resembled  in  nothing  its  prede- 
cessors; their  love  increased,  and  still  increased, 
because  it  was  a  true  love.  They  had  tested  each 
other  in  what  seemed  only  a  short  time ;  and,  instinc- 
tively, they  recognized  that  their  souls  were  of  a  kind 
whose  inexhaustible  riches  promised  for  the  future 
unceasing  joys. 

Theirs  was  love  in  all  its  artlessness,  with  its  in- 
terminable  conversations,    unfinished   speeches,    long 


Vendetta.  363 

silences,  oriental  repose,  and  oriental  ardor.  Luigi 
and  Ginevra  comprehended  love.  Love  is  like  the 
ocean:  seen  superficially,  or  in  haste,  it  is  called 
monotonous  by  common  souls,  whereas  some  privi- 
leged beings  can  pass  their  lives  in  admiring  it,  and 
in  finding,  ceaselessly,  the  varying  phenomena  that 
enchant  them. 

Soon,  however,  prudence  and  foresight  drew  the 
young  couple  from  their  Eden;  it  was  necessary  to 
work  to  live.  Ginevra,  who  possesse*d  a  special  talent 
for  imitating  old  paintings,  took  up  the  business  of 
copying,  and  soon  found  many  customers  among  the 
picture-dealers.  Luigi,  on  his  side,  sought  long  and 
actively  for  occupation,  but  it  was  hard  for  a  young 
officer  whose  talents  had  been  restricted  to  the  study 
of  strategy  to  find  anything  to  do  in  Paris. 

At  last,  weary  of  vain  efforts,  his  soul  filled  with 
despair  at  seeing  the  whole  burden  of  their  subsistence 
lulling  on  Ginevra,  it  occurred  to  him  to  make  use  of 
his  handwriting,  which  was  excellent.  With  a  persis- 
tency of  which  he  saw  an  example  in  his  wife,  he  went 
round  among  the  lawyers  and  notaries  of  Paris,  asking 
for  papers  to  copy.  The  frankness  of  his  manners 
and  his  situation  interested  many  in  his  favor;  he 
soon  obtained  enough  work  to  be  obliged  to  find  young 
men  to  assist  him;  and  this  employment  became,  little 
by  little,  a  regular  business.     The  profits  of  his  office 


364  Vendetta. 

and  the  sale  of  Ginevra's  pictures  gave  the  young 
couple  a  competence  of  which  they  were  justly  proud, 
for  it  was  the  fruit  of  their  industry. 

This,  to  the  busy  pair,  was  the  happiest  period  of 
their  lives.  The  days  flowed  rapidly  by,  filled  with 
occupation  and  the  joys  of  their  love.  At  night,  after 
working  all  day,  they  met  with  delight  in  Ginevra's 
studio.  Music  refreshed  their  weariness..  No  expres- 
sion of  regret  or  melancholy  obscured  the  happy  feat- 
ures of  the  young  wife,  and  never  did  she  utter  a  com- 
plaint. She  appeared  to  her  Luigi  with  a  smile  upon 
her  lips  and  her  eyes  beaming.  Each  cherished  a  rul- 
ing thought  which  would  have  made  them  take  pleasure 
in  a  labor  still  more  severe;  Ginevra  said  in  her  heart 
that  she  worked  for  Luigi,  and  Luigi  the  same  for 
Ginevra. 

Sometimes,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  the 
thought  of  the  perfect  happiness  she  might  have  had  if 
this  life  of  love  could  have  been  lived  in  presence  of 
her  father  and  mother  overcame  the  young  wife ;  and 
then,  as  she  felt  the  full  power  of  remorse,  she  dropped 
into  melancholy;  mournful  pictures  passed  like  shad- 
ows across  her  imagination;  she  saw  her  old  father 
alone,  or  her  mother  weeping  in  secret  lest  the  inexor- 
able Piombo  should  perceive  her  tears.  The  two  white, 
solemn  heads  rose  suddenly  before  her,  and  the 
thought   came   that  never  again  should  she  see  them 


Vendetta.  305 

except  in  memory.  This  thought  pursued  her  like  a 
presentiment. 

She  celebrated  the  anniversary  of  her  marriage  by 
giving  her  husband  a  portrait  he  had  long  desired,  — 
that  of  his  Ginevra,  painted  by  herself.  Never  had 
the  young  artist  done  so  remarkable  a  work.  Aside 
from  the  resemblance,  the  glow  of  her  beauty,  the 
purity  of  her  feelings,  the  happiness  of  love  were  there 
depicted  by  a  sort  of  magic.  This  masterpiece  of  her 
art  and  her  joy  was  a  votive  offering  to  their  wedded 
felicity. 

Another  year  of  ease  and  comfort  went  by.  The 
history  of  their  life  may  be  given  in  three  words: 
They  were  happy.  No  event  happened  to  them  of 
sullicient  importance  to  be  recorded. 


366  Vendetta. 


VI. 

RETRIBUTION. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  year  1819  the  picture-dealers 
requested  Ginevra  to  give  them  something  beside 
copies;  for  competition  had  so  increased  that  they 
could  no  longer  sell  her  work  to  advantage.  Madame 
Porta  then  perceived  the  mistake  she  had  made  in  not 
exercising  her  talent  for  genre  painting,  which  might, 
by  this  time,  have  brought  her  reputation.  She  now 
attempted  portrait-painting.  But  here  she  was  forced 
to  compete  against  a  crowd  of  artists  in  greater  need  of 
money  than  herself.  However,  as  Luigi  and  Ginevra 
had  laid  by  a  few  savings,  they  were  not,  as  yet, 
uneasy  about  the  future. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  winter  of  that  year  Luigi 
worked  without  intermission.  He,  too,  was  struggling 
against  competitors.  The  payment  for  writing  had 
so  decreased  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  employ 
assistance;  he  was  forced,  therefore,  to  work  a  much 
longer  time  himself  to  obtain  the  same  emolument. 
His  wife  had,  finished  several  pictures  which  were  not 
without  merit;  but  the  dealers  were  scarcely  buying 


Vendetta.  367 

those  of  artists  with  reputations;  consequently,  her 
paintings  had  little  chance.  Ginevra  offered  them  for 
almost  nothing,  but  without  success. 

The  situation  of  the  household  now  began  to  be 
alarming.  The  souls  of  husband  and  wife  floated  on 
the  ocean  of  their  happiuess,  love  overwhelmed  them 
with  its  treasures,  while  poverty  rose,  like  a  skeleton, 
amid  their  harvest  of  joy.  Yet,  all  the  while,  they 
hid  from  each  other  their  secret  anxiety.  When 
Ginevra  felt  like  weeping  as  she  watched  Luigi's  worn 
and  suffering  face,  she  redoubled  her  caresses;  and 
Luigi,  keeping  his  dark  forebodings  in  the  depths  of 
his  soul,  expressed  to  his  Ginevra  the  tenderest  love. 
They  sought  a  compensation  for  their  troubles  in 
exalting  their  feelings;  and  their  words,  their  joys, 
their  caresses  became  suffused,  as  it  were,  with  a 
species  of  frenzy.  They  feared  the  future.  What 
feeling  can  be  compared  in  strength  with  that  of  a 
passion  which  may  cease  on  the  morrow,  killed  by 
death  or  want?  When  they  talked  together  of  their 
poverty  each  felt  the  necessity  of  deceiving  the  other, 
and  they  fastened  with  mutual  ardor  on  the  slightest 
hope. 

One  night  Ginevra  woke  and  missed  Luigi  from  her 
side.  She  rose  in  terror.  A  faint  light  shining  on 
the  opposite  wall  of  the  little  court-yard  revealed  to  her 
th:it  her  husband  was  working  in  his  study  at  night. 


368  Vendetta. 

Luigi  was  now  in  the  habit  of  waiting  till  his  wife  was 
asleep,  and  then  going  up  to  his  garret  to  write. 
Four  o'clock  struck.  Ginevra  lay  down  again,  and 
pretended  to  sleep.  Presently  Luigi  returned,  over- 
come with  fatigue  and  drowsiness.  Ginevra  looked 
sadly  on  the  beautiful,  worn  face,  where  toil  and  care 
were  already  drawing  lines  of  wrinkles. 

"It  is  for  me  he  spends  his  nights  in  writing,"  she 
said  to  herself,  weeping. 

A  thought  dried  her  tears.  She  would  imitate 
Luigi.  That  same  day  she  went  to  a  print-shop,  and, 
by  help  of  a  letter  of  recommendation  she  had  obtained 
from  Elie  Magus,  one  of  her  picture-dealers,  she 
obtained  an  order  for  the  coloring  of  lithographs. 
During  the  day  she  painted  her  pictures  and  attended 
to  the  cares  of  her  household ;  then,  when  night  came, 
she  colored  the  engravings.  This  loving  couple 
entered  their  nuptial  bed  only  to  deceive  each  other; 
both  feigned  sleep,  and  left  it,  —  Luigi,  as  soon  as  he 
thought  his  wife  was  sleeping,  Ginevra  as  soon  as  he 
had  gone. 

One  night  Luigi,  burning  with  a  sort  of  fever,  in- 
duced by  a  toil  under  which  his  strength  was  begin- 
ning to  give  way,  opened  the  casement  of  his  garret  to 
breathe  the  morning  air,  and  shake  off,  for  a  moment, 
the  burden  of  his  care.  Happening  to  glance  down- 
ward, he  saw  the  reflection  of  Ginevra 's  lamp  on  the 


Vendetta.  369 

opposite  wall,  and  the  poor  fellow  guessed  the  truth. 
He  went  down,  stepping  softly,  and  surprised  his 
wife  in  her  studio,  coloring  engravings. 

"Oh,  Ginevra!"  he  cried. 

She  gave  a  convulsive  bound  in  her  chair,  and 
blushed. 

4 'Could  I  sleep  while  you  were  wearing  yourself  out 
with  toil?"  she  said. 

4 'But  to  me  alone  belongs  the  right  to  work  in  this 
way,"  he  answered. 

4 'Could  I  be  idle,"  she  asked,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears,  "  when  I  know  that  every  mouthful  we  eat  costs 
a  drop  of  your  blood?  I  should  die  if  I  could  not  add 
my  efforts  to  yours.  All  should  be  in  common  be- 
tween us:  pains  and  pleasures,  both." 

44She  is  cold!"  cried  Luigi,  in  despair.  "Wrap 
your  shawl  closer  round  you,  my  own  Giuevra;  the 
night  is  damp  and  chilly." 

They  went  to  the  window,  the  young  wife  leaning  on 
the  breast  of  her  beloved,  who  held  her  round  the 
waist,  and,  together,  in  deep  silence,  they  gazed  up- 
ward at  the  sky,  which  the  dawn  was  slowly  brighten- 
ing. Clouds  of  a  grayish  hue  were  moving  rapidly; 
the  East  was  growing  luminous. 

"See!"  said  Ginevra.  "It  is  an  omen.  We  shall 
be  happy." 

44 Yes,    in   heaven,"    replied    Luigi,    with   a    bitter 
24 


370  Vendetta. 

smile.  "Ok,  Ginevra!  you  who  deserved  all  the 
treasures  upon  earth  —  " 

"I  have  your  heart,"  she  said,  in  tones  of  joy. 

"Ah!  I  complain  no  more!  "  he  answered,  straining 
her  tightly  to  him,  and  covering  with  kisses  the  deli- 
cate face,  which  was  losing  the  freshness  of  youth, 
though  its  expression  was  still  so  soft,  so  tender,  that 
he  could  not  look  at  it  and  not  be  comforted. 

"What  silence!"  said  Ginevra,  presently.  "Dear 
friend^  I  take  great  pleasure  in  sitting  up.  The 
majesty  of  Night  is  so  contagious,  it  awes,  it  inspires. 
There  is  I  know  not  what  great  power  in  the  thought : 
all  sleep,  I  wake." 

"Oh,  my  Ginevra,"  he  cried,  "it  is  not  to-night 
alone  I  feel  how  delicately  moulded  is  your  soul.  But 
see,  the  dawn  is  shining,  — come  and  sleep." 

"Yes,"  replied  Ginevra,  "if  I  do  not  sleep  alone. 
I  suffered  too  much  that  night  I  first  discovered  that 
you  were  waking  while  I  slept." 

The  courage  with  which  these  two  young  people 
fought  with  misery  received  for  a  while  its  due  reward ; 
but  an  event  which  usually  crowns  the  happiness  of 
a  household  to  them  proved  fatal.  Ginevra  had  a 
son,  who  was,  to  use  the  popular  expression,  "as  beau- 
tiful as  the  day."  The  sense  of  motherhood  doubled 
the  strength  of  the  young  wife.  Luigi  borrowed  money 
to  meet  the  expenses  of  Ginevra's  confinement.     At 


Vendetta.  371 

first  she  did  not  feel  the  fresh  burden  of  their  situa- 
tion ;  and  the  pair  gave  themselves  wholly  up  to  the  joy 
of  possessing  a  child.     It  was  their  last  happiness. 

Like  two  swimmers  uniting  their  efforts  to  breast  a 
current,  these  two  Corsican  souls  struggled  courage- 
ously; but  sometimes  they  gave  way  to  an  apathy 
which  resembled  the  sleep  that  precedes  death.  Soon 
they  were  obliged  to  sell  their  jewels.  Poverty 
appeared  to  them  suddenly,  —  not  hideous,  but  plainly 
clothed,  almost  easy  to  endure ;  its  voice  had  nothing 
terrifying;  with  it  came  neither  spectres,  nor  despair, 
nor  rags ;  but  it  made  them  lose  the  memory  and  the 
habits  of  comfort;  it  dried  the  springs  of  pride. 
Then,  before  they  knew  it,  came  want,  —  want  in  all 
its  horror,  indifferent  to  its  rags,  treading  underfoot 
all  human  sentiments. 

Seven  or  eight  months  after  the  birth  of  the  little 
Bartolomeo,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  see  in  the 
mother  who  suckled  her  sickly  babe  the  original  of  the 
beautiful  portrait,  the  sole  remaining  ornament  of  the 
squalid  home.  Without  fire  through  a  hard  winter, 
the  graceful  outlines  of  Ginevra's  figure  were  slowly 
destroyed ;  her  cheeks  grew  white  as  porcelain,  and  her 
eyes  dulled  as  though  the  springs  of  life  were  drying 
up  within  her.  Watching  her  shrunken,  discolored 
child,  she  felt  no  suffering  but  for  that  young  misery; 
and  Luigi  had  no  courage  to  smile  upon  his  son. 


372  Vendetta. 

"I  have  wandered  over  Paris,"  he  said,  one  day. 
"I  know  no  one;  can  I  ask  help  of  strangers?  Ver- 
gniaud,  my  old  sergeant,  is  concerned  in  a  conspiracy, 
and  they  have  put  him  in  prison;  besides,  he  has 
already  lent  me  all  he  could  spare.  As  for  our  land- 
lord, it  is  over  a  year  since  he  asked  me  for  any  rent." 

"But  we  are  not  in  want,"  replied  Ginevra,  gently, 
affecting  calmness. 

"Every  hour  brings  some  new  difficulty,"  continued 
Luigi,  in  a  tone  of  terror. 

Another  day  Luigi  took  Ginevra' s  pictures,  her 
portrait,  and  the  few  articles  of  furniture  which  they 
could  still  exist  without,  and  sold  them  for  a  miser- 
able sum,  which  prolonged  the  agony  of  the  hapless 
household  for  a  time.  During  these  days  of  wretched- 
ness Ginevra  showed  the  sublimity  of  her  nature  and 
the  extent  of  her  resignation. 

Stoically  she  bore  the  strokes  of  misery;  her  strong 
soul  held  her  up  against  all  woes;  she  worked  with 
unfaltering  hand  beside  her  dying  son,  performed  her 
household  duties  with  marvellous  activity,  and  sufficed 
for  all.  She  was  even  happy,  still,  when  she  saw  on 
Luigi' s  lips  a  smile  of  surprise  at  the  cleanliness  she 
produced  in  the  one  poor  room  where  they  had  taken 
refuge. 

"Dear,  I  kept  this  bit  of  bread  for  you,"  she  said, 
one  evening,  when  he  returned,  worn-out. 


Vendetta.  373 

"And  you?" 

UI?  I  have  dined,  dear  Luigi;  I  want  nothing 
more." 

And  the  tender  look  on  her  beseeching  face  urged 
him  more  than  her  words  to  take  the  food  of  which  she 
had  deprived  herself. 

Luigi  kissed  her,  with  one  of  those  kisses  of  despair 
that  were  given  in  1793  between  friends  as  they 
mounted  the  scaffold.  In  such  supreme  moments  two 
beings  see  each  other,  heart  to  heart.  The  hapless 
Luigi,  comprehending  suddenly  that  his  wife  was 
starving,  was  seized  with  the  fever  which  consumed 
her.  He  shuddered,  and  went  out,  pretending  that 
some  business  called  him;  for  he  would  rather  have 
drunk  the  deadliest  poison  than  escape  death  by  eat- 
ing that  last  morsel  of  bread  that  was  left  in  his  home. 

He  wandered  wildly  about  Paris ;  amid  the  gorgeous 
equipages,  in  the  bosom  of  that  flaunting  luxury  that 
displays  itself  everywhere;  he  hurried  past  the  win- 
dows of  the  money-changers  where  gold  was  glittering; 
and  at  last  he  resolved  to  sell  himself  to  be  a  sub- 
stitute for  military  service,  hoping  that  this  sacrifice 
would  save  Ginevra,  and  that  her  father,  during  his 
absence,  would  take  her  home. 

He  went  to  one  of  the  agents  who  manage  these 
transactions,  and  felt  a  sort  of  happiness  in  recognis- 
ing an  old  officer  of  the  Imperial  guard. 


374:  Vendetta. 

"It  is  two  days  since  I  have  eaten  anything,"  he 
said  to  him  in  a  slow,  weak  voice.  "My  wife  is  dying 
of  hunger,  and  has  never  uttered  one  word  of  com- 
plaint; she  will  die  smiling,  I  think.  For  God's 
sake,  comrade,"  he  added,  bitterly,  "buy  me  in  ad- 
vance; I  am  robust;  I  $m  no  longer  in  the  service, 
and  I  —  " 

The  officer  gave  Luigi  a  sum  on  account  of  that 
which  he  promised  to  procure  for  him.  The  wretched 
man  laughed  convulsively  as  he  grasped  the  gold,  and 
ran  with  all  his  might,  breathless,  to  his  home,  crying 
out  at  times :  — 

"Ginevra!     Oh,  my  Ginevra!" 

It  was  almost  night  when  he  reached  his  wretched 
room.  He  entered  very  softly,  fearing  to  cause  too 
strong  an  emotion  to  his  wife,  whom  he  had  left  so 
weak.  The  last  rays  of  the  sun,  entering  through  the 
garret  window,  were  fading  from  Ginevra' s  face  as  she 
sat  sleeping  in  her  chair,  and  holding  her  child  upon 
her  breast. 

"Wake,  my  dear  one,"  he  said,  not  observing  the 
infant,  which  shone,  at  that  moment,  with  supernatural 
light. 

Hearing  that  voice,  the  poor  mother  opened  her  eyes, 
met  Luigi's  look,  and  smiled ;  but  Luigi  himself  gave  a 
cry  of  horror;  he  scarcely  recognized  his  wife,  now 
half  mad.     With  a  gesture  of  savage  energy  he  showed 


Vendetta.  375 

her  the  gold.  Ginevra  began  to  laugh  mechanically; 
but  suddenly  she  cried,  in  a  dreadful  voice :  — 

"The  child,  Luigi,  he  is  cold!  " 

She  looked  at  her  son  and  swooned.  The  little  Bar- 
tolomeo  was  dead.  Luigi  took  his  wife  in  his  arms, 
without  removing  the  child,  which  she  clasped  with 
inconceivable  force;  and  after  laying  her  on  the  bed 
he  went  out  to  seek  help. 

"  Oh !  my  God ! "  he  said,  as  he  met  his  landlord 
on  the  stairs.  UI  have  gold,  gold,  and  my  child  has 
died  of  hunger,  and  his  mother  is  dying,  too!  Help 
me!" 

He  returned  like  one  distraught  to  his  wife,  leaving 
the  worthy  mason,  and  also  the  neighbors  who  heard 
him  to  gather  a  few  things  for  the  needs  of  so  terrible 
a  waut,  hitherto  unknown,  for  the  two  Corsicans  had 
carefully  hidden  it  from  a  feeling  of  pride. 

Luigi  had  cast  his  gold  upon  the  floor  and  was  kneel- 
ing by  the  bed  on  which  lay  his  wife. 

"Father!  take  care  of  my  son,  who  bears  your 
name,"  she  was  saying  in  her  delirium. 

"Oh,  my  angel!  be  calm,"  said  Luigi,  kissing  her; 
"our  good  days  are  coming  back  to  us." 

"My  Luigi,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  extraor- 
dinary attention,  "listen  to  me.  I  feel  that  I  :un 
dying.  My  death  is  natural;  I  suffered  too  much; 
besides,  a  happiness  so  great  as  mine  has  to  be  paid 


376  Vendetta. 

for.  Yes,  my  Luigi,  be  comforted.  I  have  been  so 
happy  that  if  I  were  to  live  again  I  would  again 
accept  our  fate.  I  am  a  bad  mother ;  I  regret  you  more 
than  I  regret  my  child  —  My  child!  "  she  added,  in  a 
hollow  voice. 

Two  tears  escaped  her  dying  eyes,  and  suddenly  she 
pressed  the  little  body  she  had  no  power  to  warm. 

"Give  my  hair  to  my  father,  in  memory  of  his  Gin- 
evra,"  she  said.  "Tell  him  I  have  never  blamed 
him." 

Her  head  fell  upon  her  husband's  arm. 

"No,  you  cannot  die!"  cried  Luigi.  "The  doctor 
is  coming.  We  have  food.  Your  father  will  take  you 
home.     Prosperity  is  here.     Stay  with  us,  angel!  " 

But  the  faithful  heart,  so  full  of  love,  was  growing 
cold.  Ginevra  turned  her  e}7es  instinctively  to  him 
she  loved,  though  she  was  conscious  of  nought  else. 
Confused  images  passed  before  her  mind,  now  losing 
memory  of  earth.  She  knew  that  Luigi  was  there, 
for  she  clasped  his  icy  hand  tightly,  and  more  tightly 
still,  as  though  she  strove  to  save  herself  from  some 
precipice  clown  which  she  feared  to  fall. 

"Dear,"  she  said,  at  last,  "you  are  cold;  I  will 
warm  you." 

She  tried  to  put  his  hand  upon  her  heart,  but  died. 

Two  doctors,  a  priest,  and  several  neighbors  came 
into  the  room,  bringing  all  that  was  necessary  to  save 


Vendetta.  377 

the  poor  couple  and  calm  their  despair.  These  stran- 
gers made  some  noise  in  entering ;  but  after  they  had 
entered,  an  awful  silence  filled  the  room. 

While  that  scene  was  taking  place,  Bartolomeo  and 
his  wife  were  sitting  in  their  antique  chairs,  each  at  a 
corner  of  the  vast  fireplace,  where  a  glowing  fire 
scarcely  warmed  the  great  spaces  of  their  salon.  The 
clock  told  midnight. 

For  some  time  past  the  old  couple  had  lost  the 
ability  to  sleep.  At  the  present  moment  they  sat 
there  silent,  like  two  persons  in  their  dotage,  gazing 
about  them  at  things  they  did  not  see.  Their  deserted 
salon,  so  filled  with  memories  to  them,  was  feebly 
lighted  by  a  single  lamp  which  seemed  expiring. 
Without  the  sparkling  of  the  flame  upon  the  hearth, 
they  might  soon  have  been  in  total  darkness. 

A  friend  had  just  left  them ;  and  the  chair  on  which 
he  had  been  sitting,  remained  where  he  left  it,  be- 
tween the  two  Corsicans.  Piombo  was  casting  glances 
at  that  chair,  — glances  full  of  thoughts,  crowding  one 
upon  another  like  remorse, — for  the  empty  chair 
was  Ginevra's.  Elisa  Piombo  watched  the  expres- 
sions that  now  began  to  cross  her  husband's  pallid 
face.  Though  long  accustomed  to  divine  his  feelings 
from  the  changeful  agitations  of  his  face,  they  seemed 
to-night  so  threatening,  and  anon  so  melancholy  that 


378  Vendetta. 

she  felt  she  could  no  longer  read  a  soul  that  was 
now  incomprehensible,  even  to  her. 

Would  Bartolomeo  yield,  at  last,  to  the  memories 
awakened  by  that  chair?  Had  he  been  shocked  to  see 
a  stranger  in  that  chair,  used  for  the  first  time  since 
his  daughter  left  him?  Had  the  hour  of  his  mercy 
struck,  —  that  hour  she  had  vainly  prayed  and  waited 
for  till  now  ? 

These  reflections  shook  the  mother's  heart  succes- 
sively. For  an  instant  her  husband's  countenance 
became  so  terrible  that  she  trembled  at  having  used 
this  simple  means  to  bring  about  a  mention  of  Gin- 
evra's  name.  The  night  was  wintry ;  the  north  wind 
drove  the  snowflakes  so  sharply  against  the  blinds 
that  the  old  couple  fancied  that  they  heard  a  gentle 
rustling.  Ginevra's  mother  dropped  her  head  to  hide 
her  tears.  Suddenly  a  sigh  burst  from  the  old  man's 
breast;  his  wife  looked  at  him;  he  seemed  to  her 
crushed.  Then  she  risked  speaking  —  for  the  second 
time  in  three  long  years  —  of  his  daughter. 

"Ginevra  may  be  cold,"  she  said,  softly. 

Piombo  quivered. 

"She  may  be  hungry,"  she  continued. 

The  old  man  dropped  a  tear. 

"Perhaps  she  has  a  child  and  cannot  suckle  it;  her 
milk  is  dried  up!"  said  the  mother,  in  accents  of 
despair. 


Vendetta.  379 

"Let  her  come!  let  her  come  to  me!  "  cried  Piombo. 
"Oh!  my  precious  child,  thou  hast  conquered  me.". 

The  mother  rose  as  if  to  fetch  her  daughter.  At 
that  instant  the  door  opened  noisily,  and  a  man,  whose 
face  no  longer  bore  the  semblance  of  humanity,  stood 
suddenly  before  them. 

"Dead!  Our  two  families  were  doomed  to  exter- 
minate each  other.  Here  is  all  that  remains  of  her," 
he  said,  laying  Ginevra's  long  black  hair  upon  the 
table. 

The  old  people  shook  and  quivered  as  if  a  stroke  of 
lightning  had  blasted  them. 

Luigi  no  longer  stood  before  them. 

"He  has  spared  me  a  shot,  for  he  is  dead,"  said 
Bartolomeo,  slowly,  gazing  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 


STUDY  OF  A  WOMAN. 


STUDY   OF  A  WOMAN. 


To  the  Marquis  Jean-Charles  di  Negro. 

The  Marquise  de  Listomere  is  one  of  those  young 
women  who  have  been  brought  up  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Restoration.  She  has  principles,  she  fasts,  takes  the 
sacrament,  and  goes  to  balls  and  operas  very  elegantly 
dressed;  her  confessor  permits  her  to  combine  the 
mundane  with  sanctity.  Always  in  conformity  with 
the  Church  and  with  the  world,  she  presents  a  living 
image  of  the  present  day,  which  seems  to  have  taken 
the  word  " legality  "  for  its  motto.  The  conduct  of  the 
marquise  shows  precisely  enough  religious  devotion 
to  attain  under  a  new  Maintenon  to  the  gloomy  piety 
of  the  last  days  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  enough  worldli- 
ness  to  adopt  the  habits  of  gallantry  of  the  first  years 
of  that  reign,  should  it  ever  be  revived.  At  the  pres- 
ent moment  she  is  strictly  virtuous  from  policy, 
possibly  from  inclination.  Married  for  the  last  seven 
years  to  the  Marquis  de  Listomere,  one  of  those  depu- 
ties who  expect  a  peerage,  she  may  also  consider  .that 


384  Study  of  a  Woman. 

such  conduct  will  promote  the  ambitions  of  her  family. 
Some  women  are  reserving  their  opinion  of  her  until 
the  moment  when  Monsieur  de  Listomere  becomes  a 
peer  of  France,  when  she  herself  will  be  thirty-six 
years  of  age,  —  a  period  of  life  when  most  women  dis- 
cover that  they  are  the  dupes  of  social  laws. 

The  marquis  is  a  rather  insignificant  man.  He 
stands  well  at  court ;  his  good  qualities  are  as  nega- 
tive as  his  defects ;  the  former  can  no  more  make  him 
a  reputation  for  virtue  than  the  latter  can  give  him  the 
sort  of  glamour  cast  by  vice.  As  deputy,  he  never 
speaks,  but  he  votes  right.  He  behaves  in  his  own 
home  as  he  does  in  the  Chamber.  Consequently,  he  is 
held  to  be  one  of  the  best  husbands  in  France.  Though 
not  susceptible  of  lively  interest,  he  never  scolds,  un- 
less, to  be  sure,  he  is  kept  waiting.  His  friends  have 
named  him  "dull  weather,"  —  aptly  enough,  for  there 
is  neither  clear  light  nor  total  darkness  about  him.  He 
is  like  all  the  ministers  who  have  succeeded  one  another 
in  France  since  the  Charter.  A  woman  with  principles 
could  not  have  fallen  into  better  hands.  It  is  certainly 
a  great  thing  for  a  virtuous  woman  to  have  married  a 
man  incapable  of  follies. 

Occasionally  some  fops  have  been  sufficiently  imper- 
tinent to  press  the  hand  of  the  marquise  while  dancing 
with  her.  They  gained  nothing  in  return  but  con- 
temptuous glances;   all  were  made  to  feel  the  shock 


Study  of  a  Woman.  385 

of  that  insulting  indifference  which,  like  a  spring  frost, 
destroys  the  germs  of  flattering  hopes.  Beaux,  wits, 
and  fops,  men  whose  sentiments  are  fed  by  sucking 
their  canes,  those  of  a  great  name,  or  a  great  fame, 
those  of  the  highest  or  the  lowest  rank  in  her  own 
world,  they  all  blanch  before  her.  She  has  conquered 
the  right  to  converse  as  long  and  as  often  as  she 
chooses  with  the  men  who  seem  to  her  agreeable,  with- 
out being  entered  on  the  tablets  of  gossip.  Certain 
coquettish  women  are  capable  of  following  a  plan  of 
this  kind  for  seven  years  in  order  to  gratify  their  fan- 
cies later;  but  to  suppose  any  such  reservations  in  the 
Marquise  de  Listomere  would  be  to  calumniate  her. 

I  have  had  the  happiness  of  knowing  this  phoenix. 
She  talks  well;  I  know  how  to  listen;  consequently  I 
please  her,  and  I  go  to  her  parties.  That,  in  fact, 
was  the  object  of  my  ambition. 

Neither  plain  nor  pretty,  Madame  de  Listomere  has 
white  teeth,  a  dazzling  skin,  and  very  red  lips;  she  is 
tall  and  well-made;  her  foot  is  small  and  slender,  and 
she  does  not  put  it  forth;  her  eyes,  far  from  being 
dolled  like  those  of  so  many  Parisian  women,  have  a 
gentle  glow  which  becomes  quite  magical  if,  by  chance, 
she  is  animated.  A  soul  is  then  divined  behind  that 
rather  indefinite  form.  If  she  takes  an  interest  in  the 
conversation  she  displays  a  grace  which  is  otherwise 
buried  beneath  the  precautions  of  cold  demeanor,  and 

25 


386  Study  of  a  Woman. 

then  she  is  charming.  She  does  not  seek  success, 
but  she  obtains  it.  We  find  that  for  which  we  do  not 
seek:  that  saying  is  so  often  true  that  some  day  it 
will  be  turned  into  a  proverb.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  moral 
of  this  adventure,  which  I  should  not  allow  myself  to 
tell  if  it  were  not  echoing  at  the  present  moment 
through  all  the  salons  of  Paris. 

The  Marquise  de  Listomere  danced,  about  a  month 
ago,  with  a  young  man  as  modest  as  he  is  lively, 
full  of  good  qualities,  but  exhibiting,  chiefly,  his  de- 
fects. He  is  ardent,  but  he  laughs  at  ardor;  he  has 
talent,  and  he  hides  it ;  he  plays  the  learned  man  with 
aristocrats,  and  the  aristocrat  with  learned  men. 
Eugene  de  Rastignac  is  one  of  those  extremely  clever 
young  men  who  try  all  things,  and  seem  to  sound 
others  to  discover  what  the  future  has  in  store.  While 
awaiting  the  age  of  ambition,  he  scoffs  at  everything ; 
he  has  grace  and  originality,  two  rare  qualities  be- 
cause the  one  is  apt  to  exclude  the  other.  On  this 
occasion  he  talked  for  nearly  half  an  hour  with  Madame 
de  Listomere,  without  any  predetermined  idea  of  pleas- 
ing her.  As  they  followed  the  caprices  of  conversation, 
which,  beginning  with  the  opera  of  "Guillaume  Tell," 
had  reached  the  topic  of  the  duties  of  women,  he 
looked  at  the  marquise,  more  than  once,  in  a  manner 
that  embarrassed  her;  then  he  left  her  and  did  not  speak 
to  her  again  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.     He  danced, 


Study  of  a  Woman.  387 

played  at  vcartv,  lost  some  money,  and  went  home  to 
bed.  I  have  the  honor  to  assure  you  that  the  affair 
happened  precisely  thus.  I  add  nothing,  and  I  sup- 
press nothing. 

The  next  morning  Rastignac  woke  late  and  stayed 
in  bed,  giving  himself  up  to  one  of  those  matutinal 
reveries  in  the  course  of  which  a  young  man  glides 
like  a  sylph  under  many  a  silken,  or  cashmere,  or 
cotton  drapery.  The  heavier  the  body  from  its  weight 
of  sleep,  the  more  active  the  mind.  Rastignac  finally 
got  up,  without  yawning  over-much  as  many  ill-bred 
persons  are  apt  to  do.  He  rang  for  his  valet,  ordered 
tea,  and  drank  immoderately  of  it  when  it  came ;  which 
will  not  seem  extraordinary  to  persons  who  like  tea; 
but  to  explain  the  circumstance  to  others,  who  regard 
that  beverage  as  a  panacea  for  indigestion,  I  will  add 
that  Eugene  was,  by  this  time,  writing  letters.  He  was 
comfortably  seated,  with  his  feet  more  frequently  on 
the  andirons  than,  properly,  on  the  rug.  Ah!  to  have 
one's  feet  on  the  polished  bar  which  connects  the  two 
griffins  of  a  fender,  and  to  think  of  our  love  in  our 
dressing-gown  is  so  delightful  a  thing  that  I  deeply 
regret  the  fact  of  having  neither  mistress,  nor  fender, 
nor  dressing-gown. 

The  first  letter  which  Eugene  wrote  was  soon  fin- 
ished; he  folded  and  sealed  it,  and  laid  it  before  him 
without  adding  the  address.     The  second  letter,  begun 


388  Study  of  a  Woman. 

at  eleven  o'clock,  was  not  finished  till  mid-day.  The 
four  pages  were  closely  filled. 

"That  woman  keeps  running  in  my  head,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  folded  this  second  epistle  and  laid  it  before 
him,  intending  to  direct  it  as  soon  as  he  had  ended 
his  involuntary  revery. 

He  crossed  the  two  flaps  of  his  flowered  dressing- 
gown,  put  his  feet  on  a  stool,  slipped  his  hands  into 
the  pockets  of  his  red  cashmere  trousers,  and  lay  back 
in  a  delightful  easy-chair  with  side  wings,  the  seat  and 
back  of  which  described  an  angle  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  degrees.  He  stopped  drinking  tea  and  remained 
motionless,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  gilded  hand  which 
formed  the  knob  of  his  shovel,  but  without  seeing 
either  hand  or  shovel.  He  ceased  even  to  poke  the 
fire, — a  vast  mistake!  Is  n't  it  one  of  our  greatest 
pleasures  to  play  with  the  fire  when  we  think  of  women  ? 
Our  minds  find  speeches  in  those  tiny  blue  flames 
which  suddenly  dart  up  and  babble  on  the  hearth. 
We  interpret  as  we  please  the  strong,  harsh  tones  of  a 
"burgundian." 

Here  I  must  pause  to  put  before  all  ignorant  per- 
sons an  explanation  of  that  word,  derived  from  a 
very  distinguished  etymologist  who  wishes  his  name 
kept  secret. 

"Burgundian"  is  the  name  given,  since  the  reign  of 
Charles  VI.,  to  those  noisy  detonations,  the  result  of 


Study  of  a  Woman.  389 

which  is  to  fling  upon  the  carpet  or  the  clothes  a  little 
coal  or  ember,  the  trifling  nucleus  of  a  conflagration. 
Heat  or  fire  releases,  they  say,  a  bubble  of  air  left  in 
the  heart  of  the  wood  by  a  gnawing  worm.  Inde  amor, 
inde  burgundus.  We  tremble  when  we  see  the  struc- 
ture we  had  so  carefully  erected  between  the  logs  roll- 
ing down  like  an  avalanche.  Oh!  to  build  and  stir 
and  play  with  fire  when  we  love  is  the  material  devel- 
opment of  our  thoughts. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  I  entered  the  room. 
Rastignac  gave  a  jump  and  said :  — 

44 Ah!  there  you  are,  dear  Horace;  how  long  have 
you  been  here?" 

4 'Just  come." 

"Ah!" 

He  took  up  the  two  letters,  directed  them,  and  rang 
for  his  servant. 

"Take  these,"  he  said,  "and  deliver  them."        f 

Joseph  departed  without  a  word;  admirable  servant! 

We  began  to  talk  of  the  expedition  to  Morea,  to 
which  I  was  anxious  to  be  appointed  as  physician. 
Eugene  remarked  that  I  should  lose  a  great  deal  of 
time  if  I  left  Paris.  We  then  conversed  on  various 
matters,  and  I  tuink  you  will  be  glad  if  I  suppress  the 
conversation. 

When  the  Marquise  de  Listomere  rose,  about  half- 
past  two  in  the  afterjioon  of  tluit  clay,  her  waiting-maid, 


390  Study  of  a  Woman. 

Caroline,  gave  her  a  letter  which  she  read  while  Caro- 
line was  doing  her  hair  (an  imprudence  which  many 
young  women  are  thoughtless  enough  to  commit). 

"Dear  angel 'of  love,"  said  the  letter,  "treasure  of 
my  life  and  happiness  —  " 

At  these  words  the  marquise  was  about  to  fling  the 
letter  in  the  fire ;  but  there  came  into  her  head  a  fancy 

—  which  all  virtuous  women  will  readily  understand 

—  to  see  how  a  man  who  began  a  letter  in  that  style 
could  possibly  end  it.  When  she  had  turned  the  fourth 
page  and  read  it,  she  let  her  arms  drop  like  a  person 
much  fatigued. 

"Caroline,  go  and  ask  who  left  this  letter." 

"Madame,  I  received  it  myself  from  the  valet  of 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Rastignac." 

After  that  there  was  silence  for  some  time. 

"Does  Madame  intend  to  dress?"  asked  Caroline 
at  last. 

"No —  He  is  certainly  a  most  impertinent  man," 
reflected  the  marquise. 

I  request  all  women  to  imagine  for  themselves  the 
reflections  of  which  this  was  the  first.    . 

Madame  de  Listomere  ended  hers  by  a  formal  deci- 
sion to  forbid  her  porter  to  admit  Monsieur  de  Ras- 
tignac, and  to  show  him,  herself,  something  more 
than  disdain  when  she  met  him  in  society;  for  his 
insolence    far    surpassed    that   of.  other   men   which 


Study  of  a  Woman.  391 

the  marquise  had  ended  by  overlooking.  At  first  she 
thought  of  keeping  the  letter;  but  on  second  thoughts 
she  burned  it. 

"Madame  has  just  received  such  a  fine  love-letter; 
and  she  read  it,"  said  Caroline  to  the  housemaid. 

"I  should  never  have  thought  that  of  madame," 
replied  the  other,  quite  surprised. 

That  evening  Madame  de  Listomere  went  to  a  party 
at  the  Marquis  de  Beauseant's,  where  Rastignac  would 
probably  betake  himself.  It  was  Saturday.  The 
Marquis  de  Beauseant  was  in  some  way  a  connection 
of  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  and  the  young  man  was  not 
likely  to  miss  coming.  By  two  in  the  morning 
Madame  de  Listomere,  who  had  gone  there  solely  for 
the  purpose  of  crushing  Eugene  by  her  coldness,  dis- 
covered that  she  was  waiting  in  vain.  A  brilliant 
man  —  Stendhal  —  has  given  the  fantastic  name  of 
"crystallization '  to  the  process  which  Madame  de 
Listomere' s  thoughts  went  through  before,  during,  and 
after  this  evening. 

Four  days  later  Eugene  was  scolding  his  valet. 

"Ah  gaf  Joseph;  I  shall  soon  have  to  send  you 
away,  my  lad." 

"What  is  it,  monsieur?" 

"You  do  nothing  but  make  mistakes.  Where  did 
you  carry  those  letters  I  gave  you  Saturday?" 

Joseph  became  stolid.     Like  a  statue  in  some  cathe- 


392  Study  of  a  Woman. 

dral  porch,  he  stood  motionless,  entirely  absorbed  in 
the  labors  of  imagination.  Suddenly  he  smiled  idiot- 
ically, and  said :  — 

"Monsieur,  one  was  for  the  Marquise  de  Listomere, 
the  other  was  for  Monsieur's  lawyer." 

"You  are  certain  of  what  you  say?  " 

Joseph  was  speechless.  I  saw  plainly  that  I  must 
interfere,  as  I  happened  to  be  again  in  Eugene's 
apartment. 

"Joseph  is  right,"  I  said. 

Eugene  turned  and  looked  at  me. 

"I  read  the  addresses  quite  involuntarily,  and  —  " 

"And,"  interrupted  Eugene,  "one  of  them  was  not 
for  Madame  de  Nucingen  ?  " 

"No,  by  all  the  devils,  it  was  not.  Consequently, 
I  supposed,  my  dear  fellow,  that  your  heart  was  wan- 
dering from  the  rue  Saint-Lazare  to  the  rue  Saint- 
Dominique." 

Eugene  struck  his  forehead  with  the  flat  of  his  hand 
and  began  to  laugh ;  by  which  Joseph  perceived  that 
the  blame  was  not  on  him. 

Now,  there  are  certain  morals  to  this  tale  on  which 
young  men  had  better  reflect.  First  mistake  :  Eugene 
thought  it  would  be  amusing  to  make  Madame  de  Lis- 
tomere laugh  at  the  blunder  which  had  made  her  the 
recipient  of  a  love-letter  which  was  not  intended  for 
her.     Second  mistake :  he  did  not  call  on  Madame  de 


Study  of  a  Woman.  393 

Listomere  for  several  days  after  the  adventure,  thus 
allowing  the  thoughts  of  that  virtuous  young  woman 
to  crystallize.  There  were  other  mistakes  which  I 
will  here  pass  over  in  silence,  in  order  to  give  the 
ladies  the  pleasure  of  deducing  them,  ex  professo,  to 
those  who  are  unable  to  guess  them. 

Eugene  at  last  went  to  call  upon  the  marquise ;  but, 
on  attempting  to  pass  into  the  house,  the  porter 
stopped  him,  saying  that  Madame  la  marquise  was 
out.  As  he  was  getting  back  into  his  carriage  the 
Marquis  de  Listomere  came  home. 

"Come  in,  Eugene,"  he  said.    "My  wife  is  at  home." 

Pray  excuse  the  marquis.  A  husband,  however  good 
he  may  be,  never  attains  perfection.  As  they  went 
up  the  staircase  Rastignac  perceived  at  least  a  dozen 
blunders  in  worldly  wisdom  which  had,  unaccountably, 
slipped  into  this  page  of  the  glorious  book  of  his  life. 

When  Madame  de  Listomere  saw  her  husband  usher- 
ing in  Eugene  she  could  not  help  blushing.  The 
young  baron  saw  that  sudden  color.  If  the  most 
humble-minded  man  retains  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  a 
certain  conceit  of  which  he  never  rids  himself,  any 
more  than  a  woman  ever  rids  herself  of  coquetry,  who 
shall  blame  Eugene  if  he  did  say  softly  in  his  own 
mind:  "What!  that  fortress,  too?"  So  thinking,  he 
poeed  in  his  cravat.  Young  men  may  not  be  grasping, 
but  they  like  to  get  a  new  coin  in  their  collection. 


394  Study  of  a  Woman. 

Monsieur  de  Listomere  seized  the  "Gazette  de 
France,"  which  he  saw  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  carried 
it  to  a  window,  to  obtain,  by  journalistic  help,  an 
opinion  of  his  own  on  the  state  of  France. 

A  woman,  even  a  prude,  is  never  long  embarrassed, 
however  difficult  may  be  the  position  in  which  she 
finds  herself;  she  seems  always  to  have  on  hand  the 
fig-leaf  which  our  mother  Eve  bequeathed  to  her. 
Consequently,  when  Eugene,  interpreting,  in  favor  of 
his  vanity,  the  refusal  to  admit  him,  bowed  to  Madame 
de  Listomere  in  a  tolerably  intentional  manner,  'she 
veiled  her  thoughts  behind  one  of  those  feminine  smiles 
which  are  more  impenetrable  than  the  words  of  a  king. 

4 'Are  you  unwell,  madame?  You  denied  yourself  to 
visitors." 

"lam  well,  monsieur." 

"Perhaps  you  were  going  out?  " 

"Not  at  all." 

"You  expected  some  one?" 

"No  one." 

"If  my  visit  is  indiscreet  you  must  blame  Monsieur 
le  marquis.  I  had  already  accepted  your  mysterious 
denial,  when  he  himself  came  up,  and  introduced  me 
into  the  sanctuary." 

"Monsieur  de  Listomere  is  not  in  my  confidence  on 
this  point.  It  is  not  always  prudent  to  put  a  husband 
in  possession  of  certain  secrets." 


Study  of  a  Woman.  395 

The  firm  and  gentle  tones  in  which  the  marquise 
said  these  words',  and  the  imposing  glance  which  she 
cast  upon  Rastignac  made  him  aware  that  he  had 
posed    in  his  cravat  a   trifle  prematurely. 

"Madame,  I  understand  you,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"I  ought,  therefore,  to  be  doubly  thankful  that  Mon- 
sieur le  marquis  met  me;  he  affords  me  an  opportunity 
to  offer  you  excuses  which  might  be  full  of  danger 
were  you  not  kindness  itself." 

The  marquise  looked  at  the  young  man  with  an  air 
of  some  surprise,  but  she  answered  with  dignity:  — 

"  Monsieur,  silence  on  your  part  will  be  the  best 
excuse.  As  for  me,  I  promise  you  entire  forgetful- 
ness,  and  the  pardon  which  you  scarcely  deserve." 

"Madame,"  said  Rastignac,  hastily,  "pardon  is  not 
needed  where  there  was  no  offence.  The  letter,"  he 
added,  in  a  low  voice,  u  which  you  received,  and  which 
you  must  have  thought  extremely  unbecoming,  was 
not  intended  for  you." 

The  marquise  could  not  help  smiling,  though  she 
wished  to  seem  offended. 

"Why  deceive?"  she  said,  with  a  disdainful  air, 
although  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  gentle.  "Now 
that  I  have  duly  scolded  you,  I  am  willing  to  laugh  at 
a  subterfuge  which  is  not  without  cleverness.  I  know 
many  women  who  would  be  taken  in  by  it:  '  Heavens! 
how  lie  loves  me! '  they  would  say." 


396  Study  of  a  Woman. 

Here  the  marquise  gave  a  forced  laugh,  and  then 
added,  in  a  tone  of  indulgence :  — 

"If  we  desire  to  continue  friends  let  there  be  no 
more  mistakes,  of  which  it  is  impossible  that  I  should 
be  the  dupe." 

"Upon  my  honor,  madame,  you  are  so  —  far  more 
than  you  think,"  replied  Eugene. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  Monsieur  de 
Listomere,  who,  for  the  last  minute,  had  been  listen- 
ing to  the  conversation,  the  meaning  of  which  he  could 
not  penetrate. 

"Oh!  nothing  that  would  interest  you,"  replied  his 
wife. 

Monsieur  de  Listomere  tranquilly  returned  to  the 
reading  of  his  paper,  and  presently  said :  — 

"Ah!  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  dead;  your  poor 
brother  has,  no  doubt,  gone  to  Clochegourde." 

"Are  you  aware,  monsieur,"  resumed  the  marquise, 
turning  to  Eugene,  "that  what  you  have  just  said  is  a 
great  impertinence?" 

"If  I  did  not  know  the  strictness  of  your  princi- 
ples," he  answered,  naively,  "I  should  think  that  you 
wished  either  to  give  me  ideas  which  I  deny  myself,  or 
else  to  tear  a  secret  from  me.  But  perhaps  you  are 
only  amusing  yourself  with  me." 

The  marquise  smiled.     That  smile  annoyed  Eugene. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "can  you  still  believe  in   an 


Study  of  a  Woman.  397 

offence  I  have  not  committed?  I  earnestly  hope  that 
chance  may  not  enable  you  to  discover  the  name  of  the 
person  who  ought  to  have  read  that  letter." 

"What!  can  it  be  still  Madame  de  Nucingen?" 
cried  Madame  de  Listomere,  more  eager  to  penetrate 
that  secret  than  to  revenge  herself  for  the  impertinence 
of  the  young  man's  speeches. 

Eugene  colored.  A  man  must  be  more  than  twenty- 
five  years  of  age  not  to  blush  at  being  taxed  with  a 
fidelity  that  women  laugh  at  —  in  order,  perhaps,  not 
to  show  that  they  envy  it.  However,  he  replied  with 
tolerable  self-possession :  — 

"Why  not,  madame?" 

Such  are  the  blunders  we  all  make  at  twenty-five. 

This  speech  caused  a  violent  commotion  in  Madame 
de  Listomere's  bosom;  but  Eastignac  did  not  yet 
know  how  to  analyze  a  woman's  face  by  a  rapid  or 
sidelong  glance.  The  lip3  of  the  marquise  paled,  but 
that  was  all.  She  rang  the  bell  for  wood,  and  so  con- 
strained Rastignac  to  rise  and  take  his  leave. 

"If  that  be  so,"  said  the  marquise,  stopping  Eugene 
with  a  cold  and  rigid  manner,  "you  will  find  it  dilli- 
cult  to  explain,  monsieur,  why  your  pen  should,  by 
accident,  write  my  name.  A  name,  written  on  a 
letter,  is  not  a  friend's  opera-hat,  which  you  might 
have  taken,  carelessly,  on  leaving  a  ball." 

Eugene,  discomfited,  looked  at   the  marquise  with 


398  Study  of  a  Woman. 

an  air  that  was  both  stupid  and  conceited.  He  felt 
that  he  was  becoming  ridiculous ;  and  after  stammer- 
ing a  few  juvenile  phrases  he  left  the  room. 

A  few  days  later  the  marquise  acquired  undeniable 
proofs  that  Eugene  had  told  the  truth.  For  the  last 
fortnight  she  has  not  been  seen  in  society. 

The  marquis  tells  all  those  who  ask  him  the  reason 
of  this  seclusion :  — 

"My  wife  has  an  inflammation  of  the  stomach." 

But  I,  her  physician,  who  am  now  attending  her, 
know  it  is  really  nothing  more  than  a  slight  nervous 
attack,  which  she  is  making  the  most  of  in  order  to 
stay  quietly  at  home. 


THE  MESSAGE. 


THE   MESSAGE. 


To  Monsieur  le  Marquis  Damaso  Pareto. 

I  have  always  desired  to  relate  a  true  and  simple 
incident,  the  telling  of  which  once  made  a  young  man 
and  his  mistress  tremble  with  fear  and  take  refuge 
in  each  other's  hearts,  like  two  children  who  cling 
together  on  meeting  a  snake  at  the  edge  of  woods. 

At  the  risk  of  diminishing  the  interest  of  my  narra- 
tive or  of  passing  for  a  conceited  fool,  I  begin  by  tell- 
ing you  the  object  of  my  present  writing.  I  myself 
have  played  a  part  in  this  almost  commonplace  drama. 
If  that  drama  does  not  interest  you,  it  will  be  my 
fault  as  well  as  that  of  this  absolutely  true  tale.  Many 
true  tales  are  deadly  dull  and  wearisome.  Half  the  real 
talent  of  a  writer  consists  in  choosing  among  true  facts 
those  that  may  become  poetic. 

In  1819  I  had  occasion  to  go  from  Paris  to  Moulins. 

Tin'  state  of  my  purse  obliged  me  to  travel  in  the   im- 

periale   of    the   diligence.      Englishmen,    you   know, 

regard  the  seats  in  that  aerial  section  of  the  vehicle  as 

26 


402  The  Message. 

the  best.  For  the  first  few  leagues  of  the  way  I  found 
excellent  reasons  to  justify  this  opinion  of  our  neigh- 
bors. A  young  man,  who  seemed  to  me  better  off  than 
I  was  myself,  got  up,  by  choice,  into  the  same  elevated 
position.  He  replied  to  my  remarks  by  smiles  that 
were  perfectly  inoffensive.  Soon  a  certain  conformity 
of  age  and  thought,  our  mutual  liking  .for  the  free  air 
and  the  rich  aspect  of  the  scenery,  which  gradually 
unfolded  as  the  lumbering  vehicle  rolled  heavily  along, 
and  also  some  magnetic  attraction  impossible  to  ex- 
plain, generated  between  us  that  sort  of  momentary 
intimacy  to  which  travellers  are  apt  to  lend  themselves ; 
with  all  the  more  readiness,  perhaps,  because  this 
ephemeral  sentiment  will  soon  cease,  and  binds  us  to 
nothing  in  the  future. 

We  had  not  done  thirty  miles  before  we  were  talk- 
ing of  women  and  of  love.  With  all  the  oratorical 
precautions  required  under  such  circumstances,  it  soon 
became,  naturally,  a  question  of  our  respective  mis- 
tresses. Young,  both  of  us,  we  were  still  at  that  pe- 
riod of  life  which  worships  women  "of  a  certain  age ; 
that  is  to  say,  women  between  thirty-five  and  forty. 
Oh !  a  poet  who  had  listened  to  us  from  Montargis  to  I 
know  not  what  relay  might  have  gathered  many  an 
ardent  expression,  many  a  glowing  portrait  and  tender 
confidence!  Our  modest  fears,  our  silent  ejaculations, 
our  blushing  faces  gave  an  eloquence  to  that  scene,  the 


The  Message.  403 

artless  charm  of  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  recap- 
ture. Well,  we  must  all  stay  young  to  understand 
youth!  So,  being  of  equal  age,  we  understood  each 
other  marvellously  well  on  all  the  more  essential  points 
of  passion. 

In  the  first  place,  we  began  by  laying  down  the  law 
in  fact  and  principle  that  there  was  nothing  so  silly 
in  all  the  world  as  a  certificate  of  birth;  that  many 
women  of  forty  were  younger  than  certain  other 
women  of  twenty;  and,  finally,  that  no  woman  was 
older  than  the  age  she  seemed  to  be.  This  system 
putting  no  bounds  to  love,  we  swam,  in  good  faith, 
through  a  limitless  ocean.  And  at  last,  having  made 
our  mistresses  young,  charming,  devoted,  of  high 
rank,  full  of  exquisite  taste,  witty  and  refined ;  after 
bestowing  upon  them  pretty  feet,  a  satiny  and  softly 
perfumed  skin,  we  acknowledged  to  each  other,  he, 
that  Madame  Such  a  one  was  thirty-eight  years  old, 
and  I,  that  I  adored  a  quadrigenarian. 

Thereupon,  being  delivered,  both  of  us,  from  a  sort 
of  vague  fear,  we  resumed  our  confidences,  all  the  more 
intimate  for  this  brotherhood  in  love.  It  was  now  a 
strife  as  to  which  of  the  two  had  shown  the  greater 
depth  of  feeling.  One  had  travelled  five  hundred 
miles  to  see  the  lady  ot  his  love  for  a  single  hour. 
The  other  had  risked  being  taken  for  a  wolf  and  shot 
in   a   park   while   rambling   nocturnally   beneath    her 


404  The  Message. 

windows.  In  short,  all  our  follies!  Ah!  if  there  be 
pleasure  in  recalling  past  dangers,  what  infinite  delight 
there  is  in  remembering  vanished  joys!  Is  it  not  twice 
enjoying  them?  Our  perils,  our  great  and  our  little 
happinesses,  we  told  them  all;  even  our  jokes.  My 
friend's  countess  had  smoked  a  cigar  to  please  him. 
Mine  made  me  my  chocolate  and  never  passed  a  da}7 
without  writing  to  me  or  seeing  me;  his  had  invited 
him  to  stay  three  days  in  her  house,  whither  he  was 
now  going;  mine  had  done  even  better,  or  worse,  as 
you  may  take  it.  Our  husbands  adored  our  coun- 
tesses, —  they  were  slaves  to  the  charm  possessed  by 
loving  women ;  more  foolish  than  they  need  be,  they 
caused  us  only  just  anxiety  enough  to  increase  our 
joys.  Oh!  how  the  breeze  bore  rapidly  away  our 
words  and  our  happy  laughter! 

When  we  reached  Pouilly  I  examined,  most  atten- 
tively, the  person  of  my  new  friend.  Certainly  I  could 
well  believe  that  he  might  be  seriously  loved.  Picture 
to  yourself  a  young  man  of  middle  height,  extremely 
well-proportioned,  with  a  happy  face,  which  was  full 
of  expression.  His  hair  was  black  and  his  eyes  blue ; 
his  lips  were  faintly  red ;  his  teeth  white  and  even ;  a 
becoming  pallor  still  lingered  on  his  delicate  features, 
and  slight  brown  circles  were  round  his  eyes  as  though 
he  were  lately  convalescent.  Add  to  all  this  that  his 
hands  were  white,  well-modelled,  and  kept  like  those 


The  Message.  405 

of  a  pretty  woman ;  that  he  seemed  well-educated  and 
was  very  witty,  —  and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
granting  that  my  companion's  love  woufd  do  honor  to 
a  countess.  More  than  one  young  girl  might  have  cov- 
eted such  a  youth  for  a  husband.  He  was  a  viscount, 
and  possessed  in  his  own  right  fifteen  thousand  francs 
a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  expectations. 

Three  miles  beyond  Pouilly  the  diligence  was  over- 
turned. My  unfortunate  comrade  thought  best,  for  his 
safety,  to  jump  into  a  fresh-ploughed  field  rather  than 
to  cling  tightly  to  the  seat,  as  I  did,  and  go  over  with 
the  vehicle.  Either  he  measured  his  distance  ill,  or 
he  slipped;  I  do  not  know  how  the  accident  occurred, 
but  the  coach  fell  over  upon  him  and  crushed  him. 
We  carried  him  to  the  house  of  a  peasant.  Amid  the 
groans  which  his  dreadful  sufferings  forced  from  him, 
he  wa3  able  to  bequeath  to  me  a  duty  to  which  the  last 
wishes  of  a  dying  man  gave  a  sacred  character. 

AVhile  enduring  mortal  agony,  the  poor  fellow 
fretted,  with  the  simple  candor  of  his  age,  for  the 
shock  his  mistress  would  feel  if  she  read  of  his  death, 
unexpectedly,  in  a  newspaper.  He  begged  me  to  go 
myself  and  announce  it  to  her.  Then  he  told  me  to 
find  a  key  that  was  hung  around  his  neck  by  a  ribbon. 
I  found  it  half  imbedded  in  his  flesh.  The  dying  man 
made  not  the  slightest  moan  as  I  drew  it,  as  gently  afl 
possible,  from   the   wound  it  had  made.     No  sooiki- 


406  The  Message. 

had  he  given  me  certain  necessary  instructions  to 
obtain  at  his  home  in  La  Charite-sur-Loire  the  letters 
of  his  lady,  which  he  conjured  me  to  return,  than  he 
lost  his  speech  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence.  His  last 
gesture  made  me  understand  that  the  fatal  key  would 
be  a  sign  to  his  mother  of  my  mission.  Grieved  not  to 
be  able  to  say  a  word  of  thanks,  —  for  he  never  doubted 
my  will  to  serve  him,  —  he  looked  at  me  for  a  moment 
with  a  supplicating  eye,  and  bade  me  farewell  by  a  mo- 
tion of  his  eyelids  as  he  dropped  his  head  and  died. 

His  death  was  the  only  fatal  result  of  the  overturn ; 
and  even  that,  as  the  conductor  said  to  me,  was  partly 
his  own  fault. 

At  La  Charite  I  fulfilled  the  verbal  will  of  the  poor 
traveller.  His  mother  was  absent,  which  was,  I  may 
say,  a  comfort  to  me ;  although  I  had  to  bear  the  grief 
of  an  old  servant-woman,  who  tottered  when  I  told  her 
of  the  death  of  her  young  master,  and  dropped  half 
dead  upon  a  chair  on  seeing  the  key  still  stained  with 
his  blood.  But,  as  my  thoughts  were  filled  with  a 
greater  suffering,  —  that  of  the  woman  from  whom  fate 
had  snatched  the  last  love  of  youth,  —  I  left  the  old 
housekeeper  as  soon  as  I  had  found  the  precious  corre- 
spondence, which  was  carefully  sealed  up  by  my  friend 
of  a  day. 

The  chateau  where  his  countess  lived  was  twenty 
miles   from   my   own  destination, — Moulins;  but  in 


The  Message.  407 

order  to  reach  it  I  was  obliged  to  do  most  of  the  dis- 
tance across  country.  It  was,  therefore,  a  difficult 
message  for  rne,  iu  my  then  condition,  to  deliver. 
Through  a  combination  of  circumstances  unnecessary 
to  explain,  I  had  only  enough  money  to  reach  Moulins. 
Nevertheless,  with  the  ardor  of  youth,  I  determined  to 
make  the  trip  on  foot,  and  do  it  rapidly  enough  to 
prevent  the  ill  news  which  travels  apace  from  fore- 
stalling me.  I  inquired  the  shortest  way,  and  followed 
the  wood-paths  of  the  Bourbonnais,  bearing,  as  it  were, 
a  corpse  upon  my  shoulders. 

The  nearer  I  came  to  the  chateau  de  Montpersan,  the 
more  alarmed  I  felt  by  the  nature  of  the  pilgrimage  I 
had  undertaken.  My  imagination  invented  a  thousand 
romantic  incidents.  I  fancied  the  situations  in  which 
I  might  encounter  Madame  de  Montpersan,  or,  rather, 
to  use  the  poetic  name  the  young  traveller  had  given 
her,  the  Juliet  of  this  romance.  I  invented  admirable 
answers  to  the  questions  which  would  probably  be 
made  to  me.  At  every  turn  of  the  wood-path,  in  the 
Lanes,  and  between  the  hedges,  I  rehearsed  the  scene 
of  Sosie  and  his  lantern,  to  which  he  tells  the  story  of 
the  battle.  To  the  shame  of  my  soul  be  it  said  that 
I  thought  only,  at  first,  of  my  own  behavior,  my  intel- 
ligence, and  the  cleverness  I  intended  to  display.  But 
when  I  ih:i  red  t  lie  chateau  a  reflection  crossed  my  mind 
like  the  thunderclap  that  seems  to  rend  and  furrow  the 


408  The  Message. 

lowering  gray  clouds.  What  fearful  news  I  was  about 
to  give  to  a  woman  whose  heart  was  full,  at  the  very 
moment,  of  my  young  friend  and  the  hope,  from  hour 
to  hour,  of  seeing  him!  It  was,  indeed,  a  cruel  charity 
to  be  the  messenger  of  death! 

I  hastened  my  steps  through  the  muddy,  slimy  paths 
of  the  Bourbonnais.  Presently  I  came  to  a  great 
avenue  of  chestnuts,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  the 
huge  pile  of  the  chateau  de  Montpersan  rose  against 
the  sky  like  a  dark  brown  cloud  with  light  and  fantas- 
tic edges. 

When  I  reached  the  gate  of  the  cMteau  I  found  it 
open.  This  unexpected  circumstance  destroyed  my 
plans  and  my  suppositions.  Nevertheless,  I  entered 
boldly,  and  was  immediately  followed  by  two  dogs, 
barking  like  true  country  watch-dogs.  At  the  noise, 
a  stout  servant- worn  an  ran  out,  and  when  I  told  her 
that  I  wished  to  speak  to  Madame  la  comtesse,  she 
pointed  with  her  hand  to  the  clumps  of  trees  of  an 
English  park  which  surrounded  the  house,  and 
answered :  — 

"Madame  i3  over  there." 

"Thank  you!"  I  replied  sarcastically.  Over  there 
might  send  me  wandering  for  two  hours  through  the 
park. 

A  pretty  little  girl  with  curly  hair,  a  pink  sash, 
white  frock  and  pleated  pelerine,  here  ran  up,  having 


TJie  Message.  409 

heard  my  question  and  the  woman's  answer.  After 
looking  at  me  for  a  moment  she  disappeared,  and  I 
heard  her  calling  out,  in  a  thin,  childish  voice:  — 

"Mamma!  here's  a  gentleman  who  wants  to  see 
you." 

I  followed  first  the  voice,  and  then  the  fluttering  and 
bounding  of  the  white  pelerine  which,  like  a  will  o' 
the  wisp,  showed  me  the  way  the  child  had  taken. 

I  must  tell  all.  At  the  last  clump  of  bushes  in  the 
avenue,  I  had  pulled  up  my  shirt-collar,  brushed  my 
old  hat  and  my  trousers  with  the  flaps  of  my  coat,  the 
coat  with  its  own  sleeves,  and  the  sleeves  with  each 
other.  Then  I  had  carefully  buttoned  up  the  coat  in 
order  to  show  the  part  beneath  the  lappels,  less 
shabby  than  the  rest;  and,  as  a  final  touch,  I  pulled 
my  trousers  well  down  over  my  boot3,  artistically 
robbed  and  cleaned  on  the  grass.  Thanks  to  this 
Gascon  toilet,  I  hoped  not  to  be  taken  for  a  tramp 
just  released  from  the  workhouse;  but  when  I  think, 
to-day,  of  this  episode  of  my  youth,  I  laugh  heartiiy 
to  myself. 

Suddenly,  just  as  I  had  somewhat  composed  my 
demeanor,  at  the  tarn  of  a  grassy  path,  in  the  midst 
of  flowers  aglow  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  I  saw 
"Juliet"  and  her  husband.  The  pretty  little  girl  was 
holding  her  mother  by  the  band,  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  the  countess  bad   hastened  her  steps  on  hear- 


410  The  Message. 

ing  the  ambiguous  call  of  her  child.  Surprised  at 
seeing  a  stranger  (who  bowed  to  her  in  a  sufficiently 
awkward  manner),  she  stopped  and  gave  me  a  polite  but 
frigid  salutation,  which  showed  me  that  I  had  already 
deceived  her  hopes.  I  tried  to  think,  but  in  vain,  of 
a  single  one  of  the  many  fine  phrases  so  laboriously 
prepared.  During  this  moment  of  mutual  hesitation 
the  husband  came  up  to  us.  Myriads  of  thoughts 
passed  through  my  brain.  By  way  of  introduction  I 
said  a  few  meaningless  words,  and  asked  if  the  two 
persons  before  me  were  really  the  Comte  and  Comtesse 
de  Montpersan. 

These  commonplaces  enabled  me  to  judge  at  a 
glance,  and  analyze  with  a  perspicacity  rare  at  my  age 
the  two  persons  whose  tranquillity  I  was  about  to 
trouble  so  violently.  The  husband  seemed  to  me  a 
type  of  those  country  gentlemen  who  are  really  the 
best  ornament  of  the  provinces.  He  wore  stout  shoes 
with  thick  soles.  I  place  those  articles  first  because 
they  struck  my  eye  more  vividly  than  his  faded  black 
coat,  his  much-worn  trousers,  his  limp  cravat,  and  the 
dog's-eared  collar  of  his  shirt.  There  was  something 
of  the  magistrate  about  the  man,  more  of  a  puisne 
judge,  all  the  dignity  of  the  mayor  of  a  district,  and 
the  sourness  of  an  eligible  candidate  for  the  Chamber, 
periodically  rejected  since  1816;  also  a  singular  mix- 
ture of  a  countryman's  good  sense  with  silliness;    no 


The  Message.  411 

manners,  but  the  pride  of  wealth;  much  submission  to 
his  wife,  though  believing  himself  her  master;  readi- 
ness to  make  a  fuss  about  little  things  while  paying  no 
attention  to  important  ones:  for  the  rest,  a  withered 
face,  much  wrinkled  and  tanned ;  thin  gray  hair,  long 
and  flattened  down;  and  there  you  have  the  man! 

But  the  countess!  Ah!  what  a  keen  and  total 
contrast  she  presented  to  him.  She  was  a  little 
woman,  with  a  graceful,  slender  figure,  so  dainty  and 
delicate  that  you  might  have  feared  to  crush  her  bones 
in  touching  her.  She  wore  a  white  muslin  gown ;  on 
her  head  a  charming  little  cap  with  pink  ribbons,  a 
pink  sash,  a  lace  fichu  delightfully  filled  by  the  beau- 
tiful shoulders  and  rounded  outlines  of  her  shape.  Her 
eyes  were  lively,  black,  and  expressive,  her  move- 
ments gentle,  her  foot  charming.  An  old  man  of  gal- 
lantry would  have  said  she  was  only  thirty,  so  much 
of  youth  remained  on  her  brow  and  in  the  various 
delicate  details  of  her  head.  As  for  character,  she 
seemed  to  me  to  combine  the  qualities  of  the  Comtesse 

de  Lignolles  and  the  Marquise  de  B ,  two  types  of 

women  always  fresh  in  the  memory  of  every  young 
man  who  has  once  read  Louvet's  novel. 

I  seemed  suddenly  to  penetrate  into  the  secrets  of 
this  household,  and  as  suddenly  I  came  to  a  diplomatic 
resolution,  quite  worthy  of  an  old  ambassador.  It 
was,  perhaps,  the  only  time  in  my  life  I  ever  showed 


412  The  Message. 

tact,  or  fully  understood  in  what  consists  the  adroit- 
ness of  courtiers  and  men  of  the  world. 

Since  those  days  of  heedless  youth,  I  have  had  too 
many  battles  upon  my  hands  to  distil,  as  it  were,  the 
lesser  actions  of  life  and  do  nothing  more  than  prac- 
tise the  scales  of  etiquette,  —  a  process  which  dries 
the  emotions  of  generous  hearts. 

"Monsieur  le  comte,  I  am  anxious  to  speak  to  you 
in  private,"  I  said,  with  a  mysterious  air,  making  a 
few  steps  backward. 

He  followed  me.  Juliet  left  us  alone,  —  walking 
carelessly  away  like  a  woman  certain  of  knowing  her 
husband's  secrets  whenever  she  asked  for  them.  I 
briefly  related  to  the  count  the  death  of  my  travelling 
companion.  The  effect  produced  upon  him  showed  me 
plainly  that  he  was  greatly  attached  to  the  young  man, 
and  this  discovery  emboldened  me  to  answer  as  fol- 
lows, in  the  dialogue  which  ensued. 

"My  wife  will  be  in  despair,"  he  cried,  "and  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  take  every  precaution  when  informing 
her  of  this  terrible  event." 

"Monsieur,  in  addressing  myself  to  you  in  the  first 
place,"  I  said,  "I  fulfilled  a  duty.  I  did  not  wish  to 
deliver  a  message  given  to  me  by  an  unknown  man 
for  Madame  la  comtesse  without  informing  you  of  it. 
But  the  poor  fellow  confided  to  me  a  species  of  hon- 
orable trust,  a  secret  which  I  have  no  right  to  speak 


The  Message.  413 

of  except  as  he  bade  me.  From  the  high  opinion  which 
he  gave  me  of  your  character,  I  think  you  will  not 
object  to  my  accomplishing  his  last  wishes.  Madame 
la  comtesse  will,  of  course,  be  at  liberty  to  break  the 
silence  which  is  imposed  upon  me. 

Hearing  this  praise  of  himself,  the  worthy  gentle- 
man nodded  his  head  complacently.  He  answered  me 
with  a  somewhat  involved  compliment,  and  left  me  free 
to  proceed  as  I  wished.  We  then  returned  upon  our 
steps.  The  first  bell  rang  for  dinner  at  this  moment, 
and  he  invited  me  to  share  the  meal. 

When  Juliet  joined  us  and  saw  that  we  were  grave 
and  silent,  she  examined  us  both  furtively.  Greatly 
surprised  when  her  husband  made  a  frivolous  excuse 
to  leave  us  together,  she  stopped  short  and  flung  me 
one  of  those  glances  which  none  but  women  have  the 
gift  to  fling.  In  that  look  was  all  the  curiosity  of  the 
mistress  of  a  household  who  receives  a  stranger  fall- 
ing from  the  clouds ;  all  the  questions  which  my  ap- 
parel, youth  and  physiognomy  (in  singular  contrast) 
awakened;  all  the  disdain  of  an  adored  woman  in 
whose  eyes  every  man  save  one  is  nothing;  there  were, 
besides,  in  that  one  glance,  involuntary  fears  and  the 
annoyance  of  receiving  an  unexpected  guest  at  the 
moment  when  she  was  expecting  another  and  a  dear 
one.  I  felt  and  comprehended  that  mute  eloquence, 
and  I  answered   it  with  a  bad  smile,  full  of  pity  and 


414  The  Message. 

compassion.  I  gazed  at  her  for  an  instant,  as  she  stood, 
in  the  glow  of  her  beauty,  in  the  narrow  path  bordered 
with  flowers  on  that  serene  and  sunny  day.  Seeing 
this  delightful  picture  I  could  not  check  a  sigh. 

"Alas!  madame,  I  have  made  a  painful  journey, 
undertaken  —  for  you  alone.'' 

"Monsieur!"  she  said. 

"I  come,"  I  added,  "in  the  name  of  him  who  called 
you  'Juliet.'"  She  turned  pale.  "You  will  not  see 
him  to-day." 

"Is  he  ill?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "But,  I  entreat  you,  be  calm. 
I  am  charged  by  him  to  confide  to  you  certain  secret 
things  which  concern  you;  pray  believe  that  no  mes- 
senger was  ever  more  discreet  or  more  devoted." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"Perhaps  he  no  longer  loves  you." 

"Oh,!  that  is  impossible!"  she  cried,  with  a  smile 
that  was  nothing  less  than  frank. 

Suddenly  a  shudder  came  over  her;  she  cast  a  wild 
and  rapid  glance  upon  me,  and  said :  — 

"Is  he  living?" 

Good  God!  what  a  terrible  question.  I  was  too 
young  at  the  time  to  bear  the  tone  of  it ;  I  could  not 
answer,  but  I  looked  at  her  helplessly. 

"Monsieur!  monsieur!  give  me  an  answer,"  she 
cried. 


The  Message.  415 

"Yes,  madame." 

"Is  it  true?  Tell  me  the  truth;  I  can  bear  it.  Tell 
me.     Any  suffering  is  less  dreadful  than  uncertainty." 

I  answered  with  tears,  drawn  from  me  by  the  tones 
which  accompanied  these  words. 

She  leaned  against  a  tree,  giving  a  feeble  cry. 

"Madame,"  I  said,  "here  is  your  husband." 

"Have  I  a  husband?" 

With  those  words  she  fled  away  and  disappeared. 

"Come,"  said  the  count,  "dinner  is  getting  cold. 
Come,  monsieur." 

I  followed  the  master  of  the  house  into  the  dining- 
room  where  I  found  a  table  served  with  all  the  luxury 
to  which  Parisian  dinners  have  accustomed  us.  There 
were  five  places  set,  — two  for  the  master  and  mistress; 
one  for  the  little  girl ;  mine,  which  should  have  been 
his;  the  fifth  was  that  of  a  canon  of  Saint-Denis,  who, 
after  he  had  said  grace,  inquired :  — 

"  Where  is  our  dear  countess  ?  " 

"Oh!  she  is  coming,"  replied  the  count,  proceeding 
to  serve  the  soup,  after  which  he  helped  himself  to  an 
ample  plateful  which  he  ate  extraordinarily  fast. 

"Oh!  my  dear  nephew,"  cried  the  canon,  "if  your 
wife  were  here  you  would  be  more  careful." 

"Papa  will  be  ill,"  said  the  little  girl,  maliciously. 

After  this  singular  gastronomic  episode,  and  while 
the   count  was  hastily  carving  a  piece  of  venison  a 


416  The  Message. 

waiting-maid  entered  the  room  and  said,  hurriedly: 
"Monsieur,  we  cannot  find  madame!" 

At  these  words  I  rose  abruptly,  fearing  some  disas- 
ter; and  my  face  expressed  my  fears  so  plainly  that 
the  old  canon  rose  too,  and  followed  me  into  the  gar- 
den. The  count  came,  out  of  decency,  as  it  seemed,  to 
the  door,  calling  after  us :  — 

"Come  back!  come  back!  you  need  not  feel 
uneasy.'* 

But  he  did  not  accompany  us.  The  canon,  the 
waiting-maid,  and  I  hurried  through  paths  and  lawns, 
calling,  listening,  and  all  the  more  uneasy  because  I 
had  told  my  companions  of  the  death  of  the  young 
viscount.  As  we  hurried  along  I  related  the  circum- 
stances of  that  fatal  event,  and  I  saw  that  the  waiting- 
maid  was  deeply  attached  to  her  mistress;  she  entered 
more  fully  than  the  canon  into  the  reasons  of  my 
terror. 

We  went  from  place  to  place  without  finding  either 
the  countess  or  any  trace  of  her  passage ;  but  at  last, 
passing  the  side  of  a  wall,  I  fancied  I  heard  stifled 
moans  issuing  from  a  species  of  barn.  I  entered  it ; 
and  there  we  discovered  Juliet.  Led  by  an  instinct  of 
despair,  she  had  buried  herself  in  the  hay,  covering 
her  head  to  dull  the  sound  of  her  terrible  cries,  —  the 
sobs  and  tears  of  childhood,  but  more  piercing,  more 
plaintive.     The  world  had  nothing  more  to  offer  her. 


The  Message.  417 

The  maid  lifted  her  mistress,  who  allowed  herself 
to  be  handled  with  the  limp  indifference  of  a  dying 
animal.  The  woman  knew  nothing  else  to  say  than: 
"Come,  madame,  come  —  " 

The  old  canon  asked  again  and  again :  — 
"Are  yon  ill,  my  niece?  What  is  the  matter?" 
Aided  by  the  maid  I  carried  Juliet  to  her  bedroom, 
where  I  laid  her  on  a  sofa,  bidding  the  woman  watch 
her,  and  say  to  others  that  her  head  ached.  Then  the 
canon  and  I  went  back  to  the  dining-room.  It  was 
some  time,  of  course,  since  we  had  left  the  count,  and 
I  had  not  thought  of  him  until  we  reached  the  peri- 
style, when  a  recollection  of  his  indifference  surprised 
me.  But  I  was  much  more  astonished  when,  on  reach- 
ing the  dining-room,  I  found  him  philosophically  seated 
at  the  table.  He  had  eaten  almost  the  whole  dinner, 
to  the  great  amusement  of  the  little  girl,  who  smiled 
to  see  her  father  in  flagrant  disobedience  to  the  coun- 
tess's commands. 

This  singular  behavior  of  the  count  was  explained  to 
me  by  a  slight  altercation  which  suddenly  arose  be- 
tween the  canon  and  himself.  The  count,  it  appeared, 
was  under  a  strict  diet  ordered  by  the  doctors  to  cure 
him  of  some  serious  illness,  the  name  of  which  escapes 
me;  but,  impelled  by  that  ferocious  gluttony  not  mi- 
llion in  convalescents,  the  appetite  of  the  animal 
within    him    had  got  the   better    of  the    sensibilities 

27 


418  The  Message. 

of  the  man.  I  thus,  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
saw  nature  in  all  her  truth,  — under  two  entirely  differ- 
ent aspects,  so  different  that  an  element  of  the  comic 
appeared  in  the  very  centre  of  this  terrible  grief. 

The  evening  was  sad.  I  was  much  fatigued.  The 
canon  talked  of  his  niece  and  her  tears.  The  husband 
digested  in  silence,  having  contented  himself  with  the 
vague  explanation  which  the  maid  gave  him  of  her 
mistress's  illness.  We  went  to  bed  early.  As  I  passed 
the  door  of  the  countess's  bedroom  under  guidance  of 
a  valet,  I  stopped,  and  timidly  asked  news  of  her 
health.  Hearing  my  voice,  she  made  me  come  in,  and 
tried  to' speak  to  me;  but  finding  herself  unable  to 
articulate,  she  only  bowed  her  head,  and  I  retired. 

In  spite  of  the  cruel  emotions  which  I  had  shared  all 
day  with  the  sincerity  and  good  faith  of  a  young  man, 
I  fell  soundly  asleep,  overcome  with  the  fatigue  of  my 
forced  march.  At  a  late  hour  of  the  night  I  was  awak- 
ened by  a  sharp  rattle  produced  by  the  rings  of  my 
bed-curtains  being  violently  pulled  along  their  iron 
bar.  I  then  saw  the  countess  at  the  foot  of  my  bed. 
Her  face  was  in  the  full  light  of  a  lamp  which  she  had 
placed  upon  a  table. 

"Is  it  really  true,  monsieur?"  she  said.  "I  do  not 
know  if  I  can  live  under  the  awful  blow  that  I  have 
just  received;  but  at  this  moment  I  am  calm,  and  I 
wish  to  know  all." 


The  Message.  419 

"Calm!  "  I  thought;  ''what  calmness!  " 

Tlie  frightful  pallor  of  her  face  contrasting  with  the 
brown  of  her  hair,  the  guttural  tones  of  her  voice,  and 
the  ravages  which  a  few  short  hours  had  made  in  her 
changed  features  stupefied  me.  She  had  withered 
already,  like  a  leaf  that  is  robbed  of  its  last  autumnal 
tints.  Her  red  and  swollen  eyes,  denuded  of  all  their 
beauty,  reflected  only  a  bitter,  hopeless  grief;  gray 
clouds  alone  were  there,  where  a  few  short  hours  before 
the  sun  was  sparkling. 

I  told  her  simply  (not  dwelling  on  certain  circum- 
stances too  painful  for  her)  the  sudden  and  rapid 
event  which  had  robbed  her  of  her  friend.  She  did 
not  weep;  'she  listened  with  avidity,  her  head  bending 
toward  me.  Seizing  a  moment  when  she  seemed  to 
have  wholly  opened  her  soul  to  suffering,  and  to  wish 
to  plunge  into  her  grief  with  the  burning  ardor  of  the 
first  fever  of  despair,  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  fears  for 
her  which  had  troubled  the  dying  man ;  and  I  told  her 
how  and  why  it  was  that  he  had  charged  me  to  bring 
to  her  the  fatal  message.  Then  her  eyes  dried  from 
the  heat  of  the  lurid  fire  which  now  escaped  from  the 
deepest  regions  of  her  soul.  She  grew  still  paler. 
When  I  offered  her  the  letters,  which  I  drew  from  be- 
neath my  pillow,  she  took  them  mechanically;  then  she 
Bhaddered  violently,  and  said,  in  a  hollow  voice:  — 

"I  burned  all  his!  I  have  nothing  of  him!  nothing! 
nothing ! " 


420  t  The  Message. 

She  struck  her  forehead  forcibly. 

"Madame!  "  I  said;  she  looked  at  me  with  a  move- 
ment that  was  almost  convulsive.  "I  cut  from  his 
head,"  I  continued,  "a  lock  of  his  hair,  and  here 
it  is." 

I  gave  her  that  one  incorruptible  fragment  of  him 
she  had  loved  and  lost.  Ah!  if  you  had  felt,  as  I 
did,  the  burning  tears  that  fell  upon  my  hands,  you 
would  know  what  gratitude  is  when  it  stands  beside  a 
benefit!  She  grasped  my  hands,  and  in  a  stifled  voice, 
and  with  a  look  brilliant  with  fever,  a  look  in  which  her 
slender  joy  shone  out  amid  her  sufferings,  she  said: 

"You  love!  you  love!  Be  happy!  may  you  never 
lose  her  who  is  dear  to  you  —  " 

She  said  no  more,  but  fled  with  her  treasure. 

The  next  day  this  nocturnal  scene,  mingling  with  my 
dreams,  seemed  to  me  a  fiction.  In  order  to  convince 
myself  of  its  painful  truth,  I  felt  beneath  my  pillow  for 
the  letters,  and  found  them  gone. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  the  events  of  that  day.  I 
was  several  hours  alone  with  the  Juliet  my  poor  com- 
panion had  so  praised  to  me.  The  slightest  words,  the 
gestures,  the  actions  of  that  beloved  woman  proved  to 
me  the  nobility  of  soul,  the  delicacy  of  feeling  which 
made  her  one  of  those  dear  creatures  of  love  and  of 
devotion  so  rarely  sent  upon  this  earth. 

That   evening   Monsieur  de  Montpersan  drove  me 


The  Message.  421 

himself  to  Moulins.  When  we  arrived  there,  he  said, 
with  a  sort  of  embarrassment:  — 

"Monsieur,  if  I  am  not  abusing  your  kindness,  and 
taking  a  liberty  with  a  stranger  to  whom  we  are 
already  under  obligations,  would  you  have  the  kind- 
ness to   remit   in   Paris,  to   Monsieur (I  forget 

the  name),  rue  du  Sentier,  a  sum  of  money  which  I 
owe  him,  and  which  he  has  requested  me  to  send  him 
promptly?  " 

"Willingly,"  I  said. 

In  the  innocence  of  my  heart  I  took  the  roll  of 
twenty-five  louis  which  the  count  handed  to  me.  It 
enabled  me  to  pay  my  way  back  to  Paris ;  and  the  next 
morning  I  carried  the  sum  thus  lent  to  me  to  the  cor- 
respondent and  so-called  creditor  of  Montpersan. 

It  was  not  till  I  had  actually  taken  the  money  to  the 
person  indicated  that  I  comprehended  the  delicate 
cleverness  with  which  Juliet  had  befriended  me.  The 
manner  in  which  that  gold  was  lent,  the  silence  pre* 
served  about  my  poverty,  so  unmistakable  to  the  eye, 
did  they  not  reveal  the  genius  of  a  loving  woman? 

How  delightful  to  tell  this  simple  story  to  a  woman 
who  presses  closer  to  you  in  terror,  whispering:  "Ah! 
dear,  don't  die  and  leave  me!  " 


THE    END. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


2M3ac  in  <£ngli£f)< 


Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women. 

By  Honore  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  KATHARINE  Prescott  VVormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  $1.50. 


"There  are,"  says  Henry  James  in  one  of  his  essays,  "two  writers  in 
Balzac, — the  spontaneous  one  and  the  reflective  one,  the  former  of 
which  is  much  the  more  delightful,  while  the  latter  is  the  more  extraordi- 
nary." It  is  the  reflective  Balzac,  the  Balzac  with  a  theory,  whom  we 
get  in  the  u  Deux  Jeunes  Mariees,"  now  translated  by  Miss  Wormeley 
under  the  title  of  "Memoirs  of  Two  Young  Married  Women."  The 
theory  of  Balzac  is  that  the  marriage  of  convenience,  properly  regarded, 
is  far  preferable  to  the  marriage  simply  from  love,  and  he  undertakes  to 
prove  this  proposition  by  contrasting  the  careers  of  two  young  girls  who 
have  been  fellow-students  at  a  convent.  One  of  them,  the  ardent  and 
passionate  Louise  de  Chaulieu,  has  an  intrigue  with  a  Spanish  refugee, 
finally  marries  him,  kills  him,  as  she  herself  confesses,  by  her  perpetual 
jealousy  and  exaction,  mourns  his  loss  bitterly,  then  marries  a  golden- 
haired  youth,  lives  with  him  in  a  dream  of  ecstasy  for  a  year  or  so,  and 
this  time  kills  herself  through  jealousy  wrongfully  inspired.  As  for  her 
friend,  Renee  de  Maucombe,  she  dutifully  makes  a  marriage  to  please  her 
parents,  calculates  coolly  beforehand  how  many  children  she  will  have  and 
how  they  shall  be  trained;  insists,  however,  that  the  marriage  shall  be 
merely  a  civil  contract  till  she  and  her  husband  find  that  their  hearts  are 
indeed  one;  and  sees  all  her  brightest  visions  realized,  —  her  Louis  an 
ambitious  man  for  her  sake  and 'her  children  truly  adorable  creatures. 
The  siory,  which  is  told  in  the  form  of  letters,  fairly  scintillates  with 
brilliant  sayings,  and  is  filled  with  eloquent  discourses  concerning  the 
nature  of  love,  conjugal  and  otherwise.  Louise  and  Ren6c  are  both 
extremely  sophisticated  young  women,  even  in  their  teens  ;  and  those 
Who  expect  to  find  in  their  letters  the  demure  innocence  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  type  will  be  somewhat  astonished.  The  translation,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  rather  a  daring  attempt,  but  it  has  been  most  felicit- 
ously done.  —  The  Beacon. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston.  Mass. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


S^al^ac  in  <£ngli£f)* 


THE  VILLAGE  RECTOR. 

By  Honore  de  Balzac. 

Translated  by  Katharine  Prescott  Wormeley.     i2mo. 
Half  Russia.     Price,  #1.50. 


Once  more  that  wonderful  acquaintance  which  Balzac  had  with  all  callings 
appears  manifest  in  this  work.  Would  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  engineer's 
occupation  in  France?  Balzac  presents  it  in  the  whole  system,  with  its  aspects, 
disadvantages,  and  the  excellence  of  the  work  accomplished.  We  write  to-day 
of  irrigation  and  of  arboriculture  as  if  they  were  novelties  ;  yet  in  the  waste  lands 
of  Montagnac,  Balzac  found  these  topics ;  aud  what  he  wrote  is  the  clearest 
exposition  of  the  subjects. 

But,  above  all,  in  "The  Village  Rector"  is  found  the  most  potent  of  religious 
ideas,  —  the  one  that  God  grants  pardon  to  sinners.  Balzac  had  studied  and 
appreciated  the  intensely  human  side  of  Catholicism  and  its  adaptiveness  to  the 
wants  of  mankind.  It  is  religion,  with  Balzac,  "  that  opens  to  us  an  inexhaustible 
treasure  of  indulgence."     It  is  true  repentance  that  saves. 

The  drama  which  is  unrolled  in  "The  Village  Rector"  is  a  terrible  one,  and 
perhaps  repugnant  to  our  sensitive  minds.  The  selection  of  such  a  plot,  pitiless 
as  it  is,  Balzac  made  so  as  to  present  the  darkest  side  of  human  nature,  and  to 
show  how,  through  God's  pity,  a  soul  might  be  saved.  The  instrument  of  mercy 
is  the  Rector  Bonnet,  and  in  the  chapter  entitled  "  The  Rector  at  Work  "  he 
shows  how  religion  "  extends  a  man's  life  beyond  the  world.1'  It  is  not  sufficient 
to  weep  and  moan.  "That  is  but  the  beginning;  the  end  is  action."  The 
rector  urges  the  woman  whose  sins  are  great  to  devote  what  remains  of  her  life 
to  work  for  the  benefit  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  and  so  she  sets  about  reclaim- 
ing the  waste  lands  which  surround  her  chateau.  With  a  talent  of  a  superlative 
order,  which  gives  grace  to  Veronique,  she  is  like  the  Madonna  of  some  old  panel 
of  Van  Eyck's.  Doing  penance,  she  wears  close  to  her  tender  skin  a  haircloth 
vestment.  For  love  of  her,  a  man  has  committed  murder  and  died  and  kept  his 
secret.  In  her  youth,  Veronique's  face  had  been  pitted,  but  her  saintly  life  had 
obliterated  that  spotted  mantle  of  smallpox.  Tears  had  washed  out  every  blemish. 
If  through  true  repentance  a  soul  was  ever  saved,  it  was  Veronique's.  This 
work,  too,  has  afforded  consolation  to  many  miserable  sinners,  and  showed  them 
the  way  to  grace. 

The  present  translation  is  to  be  cited  for  its  wonderful  accuracy  and  its  literary 
distinction.  We  can  hardly  think  of  a  more  difficult  task  than  the  Englishing  o( 
Balzac,  and  a  general  reading  public  should  be  grateful  for  the  admirable  manner 
in  which  Miss  Wormeley  has  performed  her  task.  — New  York  Times. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,   Boston,  Mass. 


14  DAY  USE 

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s      8May'62Gf 

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